“Oh, let’s have the rest of the story, father,” said little Mary.
“Well,” the father resumed, “Bob fell asleep with fatigue, and the stunning effect of the fall. When he opened his eyes, what was his joy to find himself in his own little bed. His father was near him, and his mother, who was glad to get her little bad child back, sat at the foot of the bed, with her hands to her eyes, crying.
Bob at Home again.
“They had so much pity for him, that they did not speak one word of reproof, because they thought he had suffered enough. The doctor came, and hurt him more in setting his arm—”
“Arm, father?” said Frank.
“Paw, I mean. The doctor hurt Bob more than he hurt himself in falling; but he behaved like a little hero, and promised never, never, never to run away any more!”
“Did he keep the promise?” asked little Mary.
“We don’t know,” answered her mother, “but have got to see, yet.”
“There! there!” said Frank, “I knew it would turn out to be me! Didn’t I run away, and take John Dory’s boat?”