A WISE FATHER. 9

Presently his step was on the stair. It was a slow
and feeble step, for he was an invalid. I began to
breathe heavily; he entered the chamber, and took me
by the arm. “Come, my son, ta up; you have
over-slept yourself; this is unbusiness-like ; there is
work to do; jump up!” All this he said with a cheer-
ful, inspiring tone.

“Oh! it rains, father!” I began to say, but he was
gone. ‘There was no help; I was left to dress and
come downstairs; but my disposition to rebel brought
an ugly pout upon my lips.

“Come,” said my mother, when I at last appeared ;
$ come, Robert, put on your coat and thick shoes, and
take the old umbrella, and see how fast you can trot.”

‘ Nobody can trot fast in all this rain,” said I, pet-
tishly ; and muttering lower, “I guess Charley’s mother
would not let him go out’ such a morning; Ze could
stay at home, when he wanted to. This ugly old um-
brella, and these heavy old shoes!” And so nothing
suited me; I lagged and fretted, when, lo! my father

entered the kftchen door. I supposed he was gone,