A short time after this occurrence, a gentleman entered the store of Andrew’s father, and said, with much excitement of manner,

“Mr. Howland!  I’ve come to make complaint against that boy of yours.”

“Against Andrew?”

“Yes, sir.  He’s nearly killed my son!”

“Bless me!” exclaimed Mr. Howland, in a distressed voice.  “What has happened?  How did he do it?”

“Why, sir! without the slightest provocation, he took up a large stone and struck my boy with it on the forehead, knocking him down senseless.  I have had to send for the doctor.  It may cost him his life.”

“Oh dear! dear!  What will become of that boy?” exclaimed Mr. Howland, wringing his hands, and moving up and down the floor uneasily.  “Knocked him down with a stone, you say?”

“Yes sir And that without any (sic) provoeation.  I can’t stand this.  I must, at least, protect the lives of my children.  Every week I have had some complaint against your son; (sic) bnt I didn’t wish to have a difficulty, and so said nothing about it.  But this is going a little too far.  He must have a dreadful temper.”

“There is something very perverse about him,” remarked Mr. Howland, sadly.  “Ah, me!  What am I to do?”

“There may have been some slight provocation,” said the man, a little modified by the manner in which his complaint was received, and departing from his first assertion.

“Nothing to justify an assault like this,” replied Mr. Howland with promptness.  “Nothing!  Nothing!  The boy will be the death of me.”

“Caution him, if you please, Mr. Howland, against a repetition of such dangerous conduct.  The result might be deplorable.”

“I will do something more than caution him, you may be sure,” was answered, and, as he spoke, the lips of Mr. Howland were drawn tightly across his teeth.

The man went away, and Mr. Howland dispatched a messenger to the school for Andrew immediately, and then started for home.  He had been there only a little while, when the boy came in with a frightened look.  To his father’s eyes conscious guilt was in his countenance.

“Go up stairs, sir!” was the stern salutation that met the lad’s ears.

“Father, I—­”

“Silence, sir!  Don’t let me hear a word out of your head!”

The boy shrunk away and went up to his own room in the third story, whither his angry father immediately followed him.

“Now, sir, take off your jacket!” said Mr. Howland who had a long, thick rattan in his hand.

“Indeed father,” pleaded the child, “I wasn’t to blame.  Bill Wilkins—­”

“Silence, sir!  I want none of your lying excuses!  I know you!  I’ve talked to you often enough about quarreling and throwing stones.”

“But, father—­”

“Off with your jacket, this instant!  Do (sic) your hear me?

“Oh, father!  Let me speak!  I couldn’t—­”