Abel, too well used to his rough language to notice the uncivil
reference to his mother, said with some compassion, -

"Were you never sent to school then, Gearge?"

"They should ha' kept me there," said George, self-defensively. "I
played moocher," he continued,--by which he meant truant,--"and then
they whopped I, and a went home to mother, and she kept un at home,
the old vool!"

"Well, Gearge, thee must work hard, and I'll teach thee, Gearge,
I'll teach thee!" said little Abel, proudly. "And by-and-by,
Gearge, we'll get a slate, and I'll teach thee to write too, Gearge,
that I will!"

George's small eyes gave a slight squint, as they were apt to do
when he was thinking profoundly.

"Abel," said he, "can thee read writing, my boy?"

"I think I could, Gearge," said Abel, "if 'twas pretty plain."

"Abel, my boy," said George, after a pause, with a broad sweet smile
upon his "voolish" face, "go to the door and see if the wind be
rising at all; us mustn't forget th' old mill, Abel, with us
larning. Sartinly not, Abel, mun."

Proud of the implied partnership in the care of the mill, Abel
hastened to the outer door. As he passed the inner one, leading
into the dwelling-room, he could hear his mother crooning a strange,