As soon as she closed the door, every movement was suddenly quickened, and she sprung up the stairway to the chamber from which had come down to her the screams of her boy, as he shrunk under the cruel strokes inflicted by the hand of his father.
Entering, she saw Andrew sitting on the floor, with his arms resting on a low chair, and his face buried in them.

He raised his head slowly, and turned to see who had come in.

The instant he saw that it was his mother, a flush came into his pale face, and tears dimmed the light of his beautiful, tender, loving eyes.

In another moment he was sobbing on her bosom.
"Dear Andrew must not be disobedient again," said the mother, so soon as her child had grown calm, bending close to his cheek as she spoke, and letting her breath fall warmly over it.
"Emily is a good little girl, and I love her.

She ain't bad, mother.
She is better than I am," quickly returned the child, raising himself up, and lifting his eyes earnestly to his mother's face.
"But your father has forbidden you to go to her house, Andrew." "Won't he let Emily come to see me ?" urged the child.
"No, dear.