Johnny had never, in all his life, concealed anything from his mother; what made him wish to, now?
“I stopped to talk to Jim,” he said, hastily, “and he was smoking a cigar that a gentleman had given him.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Mrs. Leslie, gravely; “I must speak to Jim. He is too young to begin to smoke.”
Johnny said nothing, but his mind was made up; he was not going to be beaten by that cigar! There were no lessons to be learned for the next day, and he could give the whole afternoon, and the whole of his mind to it.
He did. I am not going into particulars, they are not agreeable; but late that afternoon, as a heavy thunderstorm was coming up, Mrs. Leslie grew uneasy about Johnny, who had not been seen since dinner.
“Run to the barn, Tiny,” she said, “and see if he is there—though I don’t think he can be, for I haven’t heard a word of the oration.”
Tiny ran, and came back in five minutes, breathless, and with a horrified face.
“Oh, mamma!” she exclaimed, “Johnny’s cap and his speech are on the barn floor, and the most dreadfullest groans are coming out of the haymow!”
Mrs. Leslie was running to the barn before Tiny had finished.