Willy opened his eyes very wide.
"I'll tell you why," went on Mr. Parlin. "You didn't deserve the last whipping you had; so that will go to offset this one, which you do deserve."
Willy's eyes sparkled with delight; still there was a look in them of question and surprise. The idea of his ever having a whipping that his father thought he didn't deserve!
"You were in a shameful state that night, Willy; I can't call it anything else but drunk; but I know now how it happened; there was brandy in the cider."
"Brandy, papa?"
"Yes. Dr. Potter and I examined the barrel yesterday, and the mixture in it was at least one third brandy."
"O, papa, was that why it tasted so bad? I drank one mugful, and didn't like it; and then by and by I drank another mugful; but that was all."
"Yes, Willy; so you told me when I talked with you; and I didn't believe you then; but I believe you now."
"O, father, I'm so glad!" cried Willy, with a look such as he had never before given his father—a beaming look of gratitude and love. I think he was happier at that moment to know that his father trusted him, than to know he would not be punished.
He little thought then that he should never have another whipping as long as he lived; but so it proved. Not that Mr. Parlin ever changed his mind about the good effects of the rod; but when he saw that Willy was really trying to be a better boy, he had more patience with him.