resolution breaking because of the pain of the blows. "Oh, dinna hit
me!" and he jumped as the blows fell without slackening. "Oh, oh, oh!
Mother, dinna' let him hit me ony mair!" roared the boy, while the grim,
set face of the parent never relaxed, and the belt continued to lash the
quivering flesh.

Mrs. Sinclair, who by this time was crying too, feeling every blow in
her mother-heart, began to fear this grim, cruel look on her husband's
face. He was mad, she felt, and there was murder in his eyes; and at
last, spurred to desperation, she jumped forward, tore at the belt with
desperate strength, and flung it into the corner, crying, as she gripped
the boy in her arms.

"In the name of Heaven, Geordie, are ye gaun to kill my bairn afore my
een?"

She tore the boy fiercely from his father's grasp and shielded him from
her husband, exclaiming at the same time with indignation, "Ha'e ye nae
humanity aboot ye at a'? Hit me if ye are goin' to hit any more. It's
murder, an' I'll no' stand ony longer an' let ye do it."

Geordie, surprised and amazed at her action, and the fierceness in her
voice, looked up, and immediately reason seemed to steal back into his
mind. A flush of shame overspread his face, and he sat down, burying his
face in his hands.

"Wheesht, sonny. Wheesht, my wee man," crooned the mother soothingly, as
she began to help Robert to get on his clothes, the tears falling still
from her own eyes, as she saw the ugly stripes and bruises upon his back
beginning to discolor. "Wheesht, sonny! Dinna' greet ony mair. There