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."