THE TWO APPRENTICES. 45

of fowls to be stowed away, for all of which the
aunts had, first of all, to express astonishment, and
then thanks ; and, amid all this, they and their
nephew seated themselves in the chaise, and off they
drove. William sat silent, and felt unhappy ; his
heart trembled at the thought of anger; he had seen
so much of it formerly, and so little of it in the last
happy weeks of his life. He wished his aunts
would but begin to talk; but for some time they
did not, nor did he.

At length began Aunt Joanna:—‘ My dear boy,”
said she, “nothing will be more necessary to you,
in life, than strict punctuality. Now, when I had
told you to be back soon, what could keep you out
so long—when you might see that it was getting
late, and the dew was falling. What were you
doing?” |

“‘ Nothing,” said he.

“Nothing!” she repeated. “That is hardly
likely—an active boy like you must have been
doing something.”

William might have said that he had been busy
with his thoughts, reviewing the past, and making
good resolves for the future. He thought of saying
so; but then it occurred to him that perhaps his
aunts would not believe him: he had often been
dishelieved in former days, when he had spoken the
honest truth. A sullen cloud, like the spirit of
those dark former days, fell upon him, and he again
replied to his aunt’s question, three times repeated,
that “‘ he had been doing nothing.”

His aunt said no more. Neither she nor Dorothy
said much during the rest of the drive homeward ;
they were sorry to see him, as they thought, per-