"Waal, s'pose I must go daown to the boats, an' help 'em a while. Guess
likely Nick Hornblower ain't good fer much to-night; too much grog
aboard, I'm feared. Hand me them boots, sonny."

Morton, having just risen from his game badly worsted by Molly, who
could never refrain from taunting her conquered foe, was glad to make a
digression by bringing both the hip-boots and a long worsted scarf, as
well, and after the father had passed out came to his older sister's
side.

He gave the outer log one or two gentle kicks, which sent the sparks
flying upwards like a covey of fire-flies, and finally said in a voice
too low for Mrs. Olmstead to hear,--

"Sara, I got a licking to-day!"

"Morton! What for?"

"'Cause I sassed the teacher. He don't know beans, Sara, he don't; and I
can't help grinning in his face when he tells us things just the
opposite of what you do."

"But I may be wrong, Morton. What was it?"

"It's lots of things, all the time. Guess when you tell me a river runs
west I ain't a-going to say it runs east, am I? No, sir; not for
anybody!"

Sara smiled.