“Did n’t I tell you to go to bed an hour ago, Oscar?” he inquired.

“Yes, sir.”

“Why have n’t you obeyed me, then?”

“Because,” said Oscar, “I ’ve got a lesson to get to-night, and I have n’t studied it yet.”

“If you ’ve got a lesson to learn, where is your book?” inquired his father.

“It ’s down stairs; I was afraid to go after it, and so I was trying to coax Ralph to get it for me.”

“O, what a story!” cried George; “why, father, he has n’t said one word about his book.”

This was true.  Oscar, in his extremity, had hastily framed a falsehood, trusting that his assurance would enable him to carry it through.  And he would probably have succeeded but for George; as Ralph, in his well-meant but very mistaken kindness for Oscar, would not have been very likely to expose him.  But the lie was nailed, and Oscar’s bold and wicked push had only placed him in a far worse position than he occupied before.  His father, for a moment, could scarcely believe his ears; but this feeling of astonishment soon gave way to a frown, before which Oscar cowered like a sheep before a lion.  Mr. Preston was a man of strong passions, but of few words.  Having set forth briefly but in vivid colors the aggravated nature of Oscar’s three-fold offence,—­his attack upon Willie, his disobedience when ordered to bed, and the falsehood with which he attempted to cover up his disobedience,—­he proceeded to inflict summary and severe chastisement upon the offender.  It was very rarely that he resorted to this means of discipline, but this he deemed a case where it was imperatively demanded.

Silence reigned in the boys’ chamber the rest of the night.  Oscar was too sullen to speak; Ralph silently pitied his brother, not less for the sins into which he had fallen than for the pain he had suffered; and George was too much taken up with thinking about the probable after-clap of this storm, to notice anything else.

Oscar was fond of his bed, and was usually the last one of the family to rise, especially in cool weather.  On the morning after the occurrences above related, he laid abed later than usual even with him.  His father had gone to the store, and the children were out-doors at play, before he made his appearance at the breakfast-table.  He sat down to the deserted table, and was helping himself to the cold remnants of the meal, when his mother entered the room.  Oscar noticed that she looked unusually sad and dejected.  After sitting in silence a few moments, she remarked: 

“You see how I look, this morning, Oscar.  I did not sleep half an hour last night, and now I am not fit to be up from my bed—­and all on your account.  I am afraid your misconduct will be the death of me, yet.  I used to love to think how much comfort I should take in you, when you should grow up into a tall, manly youth; but I have been sadly disappointed, so far.  The older you grow, the worse you behave, and the more trouble you make me.  Do you intend always to go on in this way?”