desire. After depositing the stick in the corner, he slowly walked up
to Mr. Goodworth, with a comical expression of amazement and disgust in
his chubby face, and meekly laid down his head on his grandfather's
knee.

"Never say die, Zack," said the kind old gentleman, rising and taking
the boy in his arms. "While nurse is getting your dinner ready, let's
look out of window, and see if it's going to clear up."

Mr. Thorpe raised his head disapprovingly from his book, but said
nothing this time.

"Ah, rain! rain! rain!" muttered Mr. Goodworth, staring desperately out
at the miserable prospect, while Zack amused himself by rubbing his
nose vacantly backwards and forwards against a pane of glass. "Rain!
rain! Nothing but rain and fog in November. Hold up, Zack! Ding-dong,
ding-dong; there go the bells for afternoon church! I wonder whether it
will be fine to-morrow? Think of the pudding, my boy!" whispered the
old gentleman with a benevolent remembrance of the consolation which
that thought had often afforded to him, when he was a child himself.

"Yes," said Zack, acknowledging the pudding suggestion, but declining
to profit by it. "And, please, when I've had my dinner, will somebody
put me to bed?"

"Put you to bed!" exclaimed Mr. Goodworth. "Why, bless the boy! what's
come to him now? He used always to be wanting to stop up."

"I want to go to bed, and get to to-morrow, and have my picture-book,"
was the weary and whimpering answer.