Master George. 113

 

end of it to lay out the supper that I did not
care to share. There was a little keg of spirits in
the house—well hidden, as my father thought, but
I knew where it was—and sometimes the tempta-
tion was almost irresistible to relieve for a time the
weary depression by adram. Once I had my hand
on the spigot to do so, but Iam thankful to say I
did resist, and no drop of that fiery and ill-gotten
liquor ever touched my lips.

One night I had lain long awake, listening to the
sounds of drinking and talking made by my father
and his companions. At last I became so restless,
that I got up and went to the window. It was so
low, that one had to stoop to look out of it; and I
crouched there, wrapped in my old quilt, gazing at
the stars. Oh, if I could only fly away, up into
that glorious heaven, and be where the angels are
—where my own mother is!

A ray of light from our door recalled me; the
men were going, and my father held a candle to
enable them to pick their way along the little yard.
I caught some of their words at parting, and these
filled me with such startled horror that I bent out
of the window to hear more plainly. “ Prickard
shall rue the day so long as he lives!” I heard.
“ And that may not be long, ncither,” said another.
“When did you say you would have the powder

UW