"It hasn't missed knocking you off your balance," said his
brother tartly. "Do you know where your own hat is?"

"It hain't knocked me off anything!" said Asahel. "It didn't
touch me!"

"Do you know where your own hat is?"

"No."

"What does it matter, Will?" said his mother.

"It's hanging out of doors, on the handle of the grindstone."

"It ain't!"

"Yes it is; -- on the grindstone."

"No it isn't," said Winthrop coming in, "for I've got it here.
There -- see to it, Asahel. Mamma, papa's come. We've done
ploughing."

And down went his hat, but not on the floor.

"Look at Winifred, Governor -- she has been calling for you all
day."

The boy turned to a flaxen-haired, rosy-cheeked, little
toddling thing of three or four years old, at his feet, and
took her up, to the perfect satisfaction of both parties. Her