And the pie will be just as good." "Thank you, mother," said Hughie.

"But I don't want your pie." "My pie!" said the mother.

"Pie isn't good for old women." "Old women!" said Hughie, indignantly.

"You're the youngest and prettiest woman in the congregation," he cried, and forgetting for the moment his sense of meanness, he threw his arms round his mother.
"Oh, Hughie, shame on you! What a dreadful flatterer you are!" said his mother.

"Now, run away to your pie, and then to your evening work, my boy, and we will have a good lesson together after supper." Hughie ran away, glad to get out of her presence, and seizing the pie, carried it out to the barn and hurled it far into the snow.