It was near sundown when Chester returned, having succeeded in finding Frank, and returned him to his owner.

Meanwhile Father Brighthopes had had a long talk with the distressed and remorseful Sam. The old man's kindness and sympathy touched the lad's heart more than anything had ever done before. He could not endure the appeals to his better nature, to his sense of right, and to his plain reason, with which the clergyman represented the folly and wickedness of lying.

"I am sure," said Father Brighthopes, in conclusion, "that, with as much real good in you as you have, the falsehood has cost you more pain than half a dozen floggings."

Sam acknowledged the fact.

"Then, aside from the wickedness of the thing, is not falsehood unwise? Don't you always feel better to be frank and honest, let the consequences be what they will?"

"I knowed it, all the time," sobbed Sam, "but I darsn't tell the truth! I wished I had told it, but I darsn't!"

"Then we may conclude that lying is usually the mark of a coward. Men would tell the truth, if they were not afraid to."

"I s'pose so. But I never thought of what you say before. When I lie, I git licked, and folks tell me I shall go to hell. I don't mind that much; but when you talk to me as you do, I think I never will tell another lie, as long as I live,—never!"

Sam now confessed to all the circumstances of the last night's disaster, and, at the old man's suggestion, repeated the same to Mr. and Mrs. Royden. He asked for pardon; and promised to tell no more lies, and to keep out of mischief as much as he could.

He was so softened, so penitent and earnest, that even the severe Mrs. Royden was inclined to forgive him. Her husband did more. He talked kindly to the young offender, declaring his willingness to overlook everything, and to do as well by Sam as by his own children, if he would be a good and honest boy. The latter was so overcome that he cried for half an hour about the affair in the shed; that is to say, until the cat made her appearance, wearing a portion of the old twine harness, and he thought he would divert his mind by making her draw a brick.

"In mischief again!" exclaimed Mr. Royden, coming suddenly upon him.

"No, sir!" cried Sam, promptly, letting pussy go.

"What were you doing?"

"You see, this butter won't come, and I've been churning stiddy on it all day——"

"What has that to do with the cat?" demanded Mr. Royden.

"Nothing; only I expect to have to go to help milk the cows in a little while; and I was afraid she would jump up on the churn, and lick the cream, while I was gone; so I thought I'd tie a brick to her neck."

Mr. Royden laughed secretly, and went away.

"That was only a white lie," muttered Sam. "Darn it all! I've got so used to fibbing, I can't help it. I didn't think then, or I wouldn't have said what I did."

The boy really felt badly to think he had not the courage to speak the truth, and made a new resolution, to be braver in future.

The relief of mind which followed the bursting of the clouds over his head brought a keen appetite; and he remembered that he had eaten nothing but an apple or two since breakfast. Hunger impelled him to apply himself to the churn; five minutes of industrious labor finished the task, and he was prepared to go to supper with the family.

In the evening a number of young people, living in the neighborhood, called, in honor of Chester's return from school. The parlor was opened for the "company," and the "old folks" occupied the sitting-room.

Chester was very lively, for he was fond of sociability, and loved to be admired for his grace and wit; but he seemed at length to find the conversation of his old acquaintances insipid.

"Father Brighthopes," he said, gayly, entering the sitting-room, "I wish you would go in and teach our friends some better amusement than kissing games. I am heartily sick of them."

"If Jane Dustan was here, I guess you would like them," said Lizzie, who had preferred to listen to the clergyman's stories, rather than go into the parlor.

Her eyes twinkled with fun; but Chester looked displeased.

"It's nothing but 'Who'll be my judge?' 'Measure off three yards of tape with so and so, and cut it;' 'Make a sugar-bowl, and put three lumps of sugar in it, with Julia;' 'Go to Rome and back again;' 'Bow to the prettiest, kneel to the wittiest, and kiss the one you love best' and such nonsense."

"Ches has got above these good old plays, since he has been at the academy!" and Lizzie laughed again, mischievously. "You used to like kissing well enough."

"So I do now," said he, giving her a smack, by way of illustration; "but stolen waters are the sweetest. Some public kissing I have done to-night has been like taking medicine."

His remarks were cut short by the entrance of a tall young lady, with thin curls and homely teeth. She affected unusual grace of manner; her smile showed an attempt to be fascinating, and her language was peculiarly select, and lispingly pronounced.

"What! are you here?" she cried, pretending to be surprised at seeing Chester. "I thought I left you in the parlor."

Chester smiled at the innocent little deception her modesty led her to practise, and, as a means of getting rid of her, introduced her to the old clergyman.

"I believe I had a glimpthe of you, this forenoon," said Miss Smith, with an exquisite smile. "You called at our houthe, I believe. Father was very thorry he wasn't at home. You mutht call again. You mutht come too, next time, Mrs. Royden. You owe mother two visits. What gloriouth weather we have now! I never thaw tho magnifithent a thunthet as there was this evening. Did you obtherve it, Mithter Royden?" addressing Chester.

"It was very fine."

"It was thurpathingly lovely! What thuperb cloudth! Will you be tho good,"—Miss Smith somewhat changed her tone,—"will you be tho good as to help me to a glath of water?"

Chester was returning to the parlor, and she was just in time to catch him. He could not refuse, and she followed him into the kitchen.

"She has stuck to him like a burr, all the evening," whispered Lizzie. "He can't stir a step, but she follows him; and he hates her dreadfully."

Mrs. Royden reprimanded the girl for speaking so freely, to which she replied, "she didn't care; it was true."

Chester was not half so long getting the water as Miss Smith was drinking it. She sipped and talked, and sipped and talked again, in her most dangerously fascinating manner, until he was on the point of leaving her to digest the beverage alone.

"Theems to me you're in a terrific hurry," she cried. "I hope you an't afraid of me. Good-neth! I am as harmleth as a kitten."

Miss Smith showed her disagreeable teeth, and shook her consumptive curls, with great self-satisfaction. When Chester confessed that he was afraid of her, she declared herself "infinitely amathed."

"But I don't believe it. Thomebody in the parlor has a magnetic influence over you," she said, archly. "Now, confeth!"

On returning to the sitting-room, they found that two or three other young ladies had followed them from the parlor.

"What a magnet thomebody is!" remarked Miss Smith. "I wonder who it can be."

"I should think you might tell, since you were the first to be attracted from the parlor," remarked Miss Julia Keller.

"Oh, I came for a glath of water." Miss Smith shook her curls again, and turned to Father Brighthopes. "I am ecthethively delighted to make your acquaintanth, thir, for I am immenthly fond of minithters."

The old man smiled indulgently, and replied that he thought younger clergymen than himself might please her best.

"Young or old, it makes no differenth," said she. "Our minithter is a delightfully fathinating man, and he is only twenty-five."

"Fascinating?"

"Oh, yeth! He is extremely elegant in his dreth, and his manners are perfectly charming. His language is ectheedingly pretty, and thometimes gorgeouthly thublime."

"I wish you would let Father Brighthopes finish the story he was telling me," said Lizzie, bluntly.

"A story?" cried Miss Smith. "Thertainly. Let me thit down and hear it too. I'm pathionately fond of stories."

In taking a seat she was careful to place herself in close proximity to Chester, who was engaged in conversation with Julia.

The clergyman resumed his narrative, in which not only Lizzie, but her father and mother also, had become interested. It was a reminiscence of his own early life. He told of afflictions, trials, all sorts of perplexities and struggles with the world, in experiencing which his heart had been purified, and his character had been formed.

As he proceeded, his audience increased. The company came from the parlor and gathered around him, until the scene of the kissing games was quite deserted. Only one person remained behind. Hepsy, with her face behind the window-curtains, was sobbing.

Chester thought of her, and, stealing out of the sitting-room, to find her, stood for some seconds by her side, before she was aware of his presence.