“Come here to me, my little son.”  How gentle and tender were the tones.

Eddie lifted his head and with one joyous bound was in his fathers arms, clinging about his neck and sobbing out upon his breast his grief, his joy, his penitence.  “Papa, papa, can you forgive such a naughty disobedient boy?  I’m so sorry I did it!  I’m so glad you didn’t die, dear, dear papa! so glad you love me yet.”

“Love you, son?  I think if you knew how much, you would never want to disobey again.”

“I don’t, papa, oh, I don’t!  I ask God earnestly every day to give me a new heart, and help me always to be good.  But mustn’t I be punished? mamma said it was for you to say, and grandpa didn’t whip me and he won’t ’less you ask him.”

“And I shall not ask him, my son.  I fully and freely forgive you, because I am sure you are very sorry and do not mean to disobey again.”

How happy the child was that at last his father knew and had forgiven all.

Mr. Travilla improved the occasion for a short but very serious talk with him on the sin and danger of disobedience, and his words, so tenderly spoken, made a deep and lasting impression.

But Eddie was not yet done with the pain and mortification consequent upon his wrong doing.  That afternoon the Ashland ladies called bringing with them the elder children of both families.  While their mammas conversed in the drawing-room the little people gathered in the veranda.

All was harmony and good-will among them till Philip Ross, fixing his eyes on Eddie, said with a sneer, “So, Master Ed, though you told me one day you’d never talk to your mamma as I did to mine, you’ve done a good deal worse.  I don’t set up for a pattern good boy, but I’d die before I’d shoot my father.”

Eddie’s eyes sought the floor while his lips trembled and two great tears rolled down his burning cheeks.

“Phil Ross,” cried Gertrude, “I’m ashamed of you! of course he didn’t do it a-purpose.”

“May be not; he didn’t disobey on purpose? hadn’t his father—­”

But catching a reproachful, entreating look from Elsie’s soft, brown eyes, he stopped short and turning away, began to whistle carelessly, while Vi, putting her small arms about Eddie’s neck, said, “Phil Ross, you shouldn’t ’sult my brother so, ’cause he wouldn’t ’tend to hurt papa; no, not for all the world;” Harold chiming in, “’Course my Eddie wouldn’t!” and Bruno, whom he was petting and stroking with his chubby hands, giving a short, sharp bark, as if he too had a word to say in defence of his young master.

“Is that your welcome to visitors, Bruno?” queried a young man of eighteen or twenty, alighting from his horse and coming up the steps into the veranda.

“You must please excuse him for being so ill-mannered, Cousin Cal,” little Elsie said, coming forward and offering her hand with a graceful courtesy very like her mamma’s.  “Will you walk into the drawing-room? our mammas are all there.”