"Where's father?"
"Down stairs in the dining-room, I think."
"Well, I'm ready; will you tell him I'm ready," cried Willy, drawing a quick breath.
"Ready for what, dear?"
"Well, he is going to whip me, I suppose, and I want it over with."
"And how do you feel about it, my son? Don't you think you deserve to be whipped?"
"Yes'm, I do," replied Willy, with a sudden burst of candor; "I don't see how anybody can help whipping a boy that's acted the way I have."
"That's nobly said, my child," exclaimed Mr. Parlin, stepping out of the large clothes-press. "I happened to be in there over-hauling the trunk that has my Freemason clothes in it, and I couldn't but overhear what you've been saying."
Willy buried his face in the pillow. He was willing his mother should know his inmost thoughts, but he had always been afraid of his father.
"And, Willy, since you take so kindly to the idea of another whipping, I don't know but I shall let you off this time."