oe ROBERT DAWSON.

“T-have not got my lesson, and cannot get it;” my
eyes being still fixed on the chip.

e ‘And that is your conclusion, after a fair, resolute
trial; is it, my son?”-

“Ves, father,” I would have said, but the effort died
in my throat. He still ‘rested from his work, his eyes
fixed on. mine, and mine fixed on the chip.

“No, father,” I faintly articulated ; for I call bnew

there was no such thing as deceiving him in such a
matter.
. “T am very glad to see you dealing honestly with
yourself, Robert. We can understand éach other in no
other way. People sometimes make miserable shifts to
get along easy, but it is in vain. I cannot honestly
give you an excuse, because I think your lesson can be
learned, and I do not think you have taken that time to
study this morning which you ought to have taken, and
which you might easily have done, had you really tried.
Make up your mind to do anything, and-you can do it.”

Knowing it was in vain to argue the case, I escaped

from the wood-house.