File:Harper's New Monthly Magazine Volume 104 December 1901 to May 1902 (1902) (14782969062).jpg

Identifier: harpersnew0104various (find matches)
Title: Harper's New Monthly Magazine Volume 104 December 1901 to May 1902
Year: 1902 (1900s)
Authors: various
Subjects:
Publisher: New York: Harper & Brothers Publishers
Contributing Library: Brigham Young University-Idaho, David O. McKay Library
Digitizing Sponsor: Brigham Young University-Idaho

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whip me. Sh, boy. No, she wont. Well takeit to the tinker. Hell make it all rightagain. Come. And you and Grandfather slunkguiltily to the tinker and watched himmake the blue fragments into the bluepitcher again, and then you carried ithome, and as Grandfather set it back onthe shelf, you whispered, Grandfather. Grandfather bent his ear to you. Verysoftly you said it: Grandfather, the cracks dont show atall from here. Grandfather nodded his head. Then hetramped up and down in the garden. Heforgot to smoke. Crime weighed uponhis soul. Boy, said he, sternly, stopping in hiswalk. You must never be naughtyagain. Do you hear me? I wont, Grandfather. Grandfather resumed his tramping;then paused and turned to where yousat on the wheelbarrow. But if you ever are naughty again,you must go at once and tell Mother.Do you understand ? Yes, Grandfather. Up and down Grandfather trampedmoodily, his head bent, his hands claspedbehind him—up and down between theverbenas and hollyhocks. He paused ir-
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Vol. CIV.—No. 620.-25 HARPERS MONTHLY MAGAZINE. resolutely—turned—turned again—andcame back to you. Boy, Grandfathers just as bad andwicked as you are. He ought to havemade you tell Mother about the pitcherfirst, and take it to the tinker afterward.You must never keep anything from yourmother again—never. Do you hear? Yes, Grandfather, you whimpered,hanging your head. Come, boy. You gave him your hand. Mother lis-tened, wondering, while Grandfatherspoke out bravely to the very end. Youhad been bad, but he had been worse, heconfessed; and he asked to be punishedfor himself and you. Mother did not even look at the crackedblue pitcher on the clock-shelf, but hereyes filled, and at the sight of her tearsyou flung yourself, sobbing, into her arms. Oh, Mother, dont whip Grandfather.Just whip me. It isnt the blue pitcher I care about,she said. Its only to think that myfather and my little boy were afraid totell me. And at this she broke out crying, withyour wet cheek against her we

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