“But I have told him not to go in there, haven’t I?”

“Yes.”

“Very well.  That settles the matter.  If he goes, he disobeys me; and if he disobeys me, he must be punished.”

“But, Andrew—­”

“It is useless to argue about this with me, Esther.  Entirely useless.  In your weakness you would indulge and ruin the boy.  But I know my duty better.”

Mrs. Howland sighed deeply and remained silent.  Some ten minutes afterwards, seeing her husband engaged with a book, she arose and left the room.  As soon as she closed the door, every movement was suddenly quickened, and she sprung up the stairway to the chamber from which had come down to her the screams of her boy, as he shrunk under the cruel strokes inflicted by the hand of his father.  Entering, she saw Andrew sitting on the floor, with his arms resting on a low chair, and his face buried in them.  He raised his head slowly, and turned to see who had come in.  The instant he saw that it was his mother, a flush came into his pale face, and tears dimmed the light of his beautiful, tender, loving eyes.  In another moment he was sobbing on her bosom.

“Dear Andrew must not be disobedient again,” said the mother, so soon as her child had grown calm, bending close to his cheek as she spoke, and letting her breath fall warmly over it.

“Emily is a good little girl, and I love her.  She ain’t bad, mother.  She is better than I am,” quickly returned the child, raising himself up, and lifting his eyes earnestly to his mother’s face.

“But your father has forbidden you to go to her house, Andrew.”

“Won’t he let Emily come to see me?” urged the child.

“No, dear.  He wants you to play with some one else.”

“But I don’t want to play with any one else.  Emily is a good girl, and I like her so much.  Indeed she ain’t bad, mother.  She’s good.”

“I know, dear,” answered the perplexed mother.  “I know that Emily is a good girl.  But—­”

“Then why won’t father let me play with her?” was Andrew’s quick interrogation.

“He doesn’t wish you to do so, my child, and you must be an obedient, good little boy, and then your father will love you.”

“He don’t love me!” said Andrew in a tone and with an emphasis that startled his mother.

“Oh yes, he does!  He loves you very much.  Isn’t he your father?” replied Mrs. Howland in an earnest voice.

“He wouldn’t have whipped me so hard if he had loved me!  I’m sure he wouldn’t, mother.”

And tears gushed from the eyes of the child at the remembrance of his father’s stern face, and the pain he had suffered.

“Andrew musn’t speak so of his father,” said Mrs. Howland in a chiding voice.  “Andrew was disobedient; that was the reason why his father punished him.  Andrew must be a good boy.”

“I ain’t bad, mother,” sobbed the child.  “I’m sure it ain’t bad to play with Emily.  She never does anything naughty.”