When Willy came to his senses next morning, there was a guilty feeling hanging over him, and his head ached badly. He crept down stairs, and fixed his gaze first on the sanded floor of the kitchen, then on the dresser full of dishes; but to look any one in the face he was ashamed. His mother was not at the table, and they ate almost in silence.
"Now, young man," said Mr. Parlin, after breakfast, "you may walk out to the barn with me." Willy had a dim idea that he had done something wrong; but exactly what it was he could not imagine. He remembered scolding Abe Noonin for hurting little Jock's feelings; was that what he was to be punished for?
Willy did not know he had been intoxicated. He was sure he did not like that cider, yesterday, and had taken only a little of it. He supposed he had eaten too much, and that was what had made him sick.
"Off with your jacket, young man!"
Old Dick neighed, Towler growled, the sheep bleated; it seemed as if they were all protesting against Willy's being whipped.
"Now, sir," said Mr. Parlin, after a dozen hearty lashes, "shall I ever hear of your getting drunk again?"
"Why, father! I didn't—O, I didn't! I only took some cider—just two mugfuls!" gasped Willy; "that's all; and you know you always let me drink cider."
"Two mugfuls!" groaned Mr. Parlin, distressed at what he considered a wilful lie; and the blows fell heavier and faster, while Willy's face whitened, and his teeth shut together hard. Mr. Parlin had never acted from purer motives; still Willy felt that the punishment was not just, and it only served to call up what the boys termed his "Indian sulks."
Angry and smarting with pain in mind and body, he walked off that afternoon to the old red store. Fred was sitting under a tree, chewing gum.
"Had to take it, I guess, Billy?"