This shed was a favorite resort for the hogs, which were out when the new-comer arrived, but soon returned to their nest. In the utmost kindness, they gave the man the warmest place in the middle of the bed; some lying close by his side, and others acting the part of the quilt. Their company made him so warm that he was kept from exposure.
Toward morning he began to rouse from his drunken sleep, but felt so comfortable that he supposed himself still in the tavern with his companions.
He reached out his hand, and catching hold of the stiff bristles of a hog, exclaimed,—
“Why, Mister, when did you shave last?”
“How did Daniel Jones look while Miss Darling was telling the story?” asked Hatty, much interested.
“He looked very red. I don’t believe teacher knows what a drunkard his father is.”
“Well,” said Hatty; “you and I ought to be very thankful that our father is a temperance man. How should you feel to have him lying with the hogs?”
“I never thought how many things we have to be grateful for,” said Fred, gravely. “If I had a father like Dan Jones, I never could look anybody in the face.”
Mrs. Carleton, finding that her son’s mind was still dwelling on gratitude, promised to relate a story on the subject, as soon as tea was cleared away.
While Hatty was doing this, Fred took his book to learn the lesson for the next Sabbath. He was nearly through when he noticed that his sister was trying to lift the table alone, and set it in its place next the wall.