The boy became voluble. "The other time, father, you know I told you——"
"Yes, you told me. You're always telling me. Did you take that scythe down to be sharpened yesterday?"
"I meant to—I'll take it this afternoon, sure."
"You'll take it before you go to school this morning."
"Father,—if I'm tardy,——"
"You can explain to Professor Gloster you made yourself late."
The boy's lip pouted; a whimper trembled behind it.
"Twice this week you've failed to hoe the spring garden. Do you know who watered your chickens last night?"
Pelham was silent. The list was growing too large to explain away, apt as he had become in excuses.
"I had a talk with your mother yesterday." The father sat on the edge of his bed, his eyes down, thumping a yard-stick against his left thumb.