THE PRISONER.

in her eyes, “for keeping an instrument of torture in your hand
to frighten little children. ‘You ought to know better.”

The mother and teacher stood looking at each other with
severe faces for some moments. Then a change came over that
of the kind old man. It grew mild and gentle.

“You are right,” he said, with a tender regret in his tone.
“T ought to have known better, and I thank you for telling me
the truth. Bring your little boy to-morrow, and I promise you
there will be no rod visible to frighten him. But be sure,” he
added, a smile lighting up his face, “to leave Ponto at home.”

 

THE PRISONER.

H, dear! It will never stop raining!” And Harvey
came back from the window where be had been watching
the clouds that rolled across the sky, driven by stormy
winds.

“My little prisoner must be patient for a while longer,” said
his mother. “It always stops raining.”

“Tt won’t stop to-day,” answered the child, in a fretful voice.

“Maybe not; but it will clear to-morrow, or next day, and
then you can go out.”

“To-morrow! Next day! Oh, dear! Tl never stand it!”
And Harvey went tearing about the room in a very impatient
kind of a way. : é

“Get your blocks and build a castle,” said his mother.

“T don’t want to build a castle,” was replied.

“Go up in the garret and take a swing.”

“Don’t want to swing.”

“Read a story in one of your books.”

* Don’t want to read.”
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