Captain Horace

Horace ate dry toast again this morning, but no one seemed to notice it. If he had dared look up, he would have seen that his father and mother wore sorrowful faces.

After breakfast, Mr. Clifford called him into the library. In the first place, he took to pieces the mangled watch, and showed him how it had been injured.

"Have you any right to meddle with things which belong to other people, my son?"

Horace's chin snuggled down into the hollow place in his neck, and he made no reply.

"Answer me, Horace."

"No, sir."

"It will cost several dollars to pay for repairing this watch: don't you think the little boy who did the mischief should give part of the money?"

Horace looked distressed; his face began to twist itself out of shape.

"This very boy has a good many pieces of silver which were given him to buy fire-crackers. So you see, if he is truly sorry for his fault, he knows the way to atone for it."

Horace's conscience told him, b