J. COLE. 37

somebody wanted oyster-sauce, she told Joe
to hand it. The poor boy, wishing to obey
quickly, forgot to give the bear-skin a wide
berth, slipped on it, and in a moment had
fallen full length, having in his fall deposited
the contents of the sauce-tureen partly into
a blue leather armchair, and the rest onto
my sister’s back.

The boy’s consternation was dreadful. I
could see he was completely overcome with
fright and sorrow for what he had done. He
got up, and all his trembling lips could say
was, “Oh, please, I’m so sorry; it was the
bear as tripped me up. I am so very sorry.”

Even my husband could scarcely keep from
smiling, the sorrow was so genuine, the sense
of shame so true.

“There, never mind, Joe,” he said kindly;
“you must be more careful. Now run and
get a sponge, and do the best you can with
it.”

After that Joe had the greatest terror of
that treacherous skin, and I heard him tell-
ing the parlor-maid about it.

*“ You mind,” he said, “or that bear’ll ketch