10 BRAGGADOCIO.

The father stopped by the well to wash his
face and hands; but all the scrubbing and
scouring would not take out the blue stains
which discolored them. Bran Mixon was not
more than forty years old. In his Sunday
clothes he was quite a decent-looking person ;
but in his working dress—a coarse, blue cot-
ton, carman’s frock, and wide trowsers of the
same material—he looked like any other day-
laborer, excepting that he had a remarkably
good-natured face.

When Mixon came into the kitchen, the fire
was brightly blazing, and its cheerful light,
and Bessie’s smile, were a pleasant welcome.
A few chairs, a tall wooden clock in one cor-
ner, and two tables, were all the furniture the
kitchen could boast. A large white and brown
dog lay before the fire, enjoying an evening
nap, and the tea-kettle was singing a cheerful
tune. Altogether, the neat kitchen was as
comfortable as the home of a poor man well
could be. :

Bessie, as she placed a chair for him, said,

“You will have to wait a little while for
supper, father. Tom and I went down to the