"Where is it?" he growled.
"I--I--spent it," I said, not thinking what else to say.
A groan escaped through his shut teeth as he reeled across the hall and
took down a short rawhide whip that had been mine to play with. Although he
had never punished me severely, I was now frightened at his anger.
"Don't whip me, father!" I pleaded, as he came staggering toward me with
the whip. "Don't whip me, please!"
I started to make a clean breast of the whole matter, but the cruel lash
cut my sentence short. I had on no coat, only my waist, and I am sure a boy
never received such a whipping as I did.
I did not cry at first. My heart was filled only with pity for my father.
Something lay so heavy in my breast that it seemed to fill up my throat and
choke me. I shut my teeth tightly together, and tried to endure the hurt,
but the biting lash cut deeper and deeper until I could stand it no longer.
Then my spirit broke, and I begged him to stop. This seemed only to anger
him the more, if such a thing could be. I cried for mercy, and called for
mother, who was out at one of the neighbor's. Had she been at home, I am
sure she would have interceded for me. But he kept on and on, his face as
white as the wall. I could feel something wet running down my back, and my
face was slippery with blood, when I put up my hand to protect it. I
thought I should die; everything began to go round and round. The strokes
did not hurt any longer; I could not feel them now. The hall suddenly grew
dark, and I sank upon the floor. Then I suppose he stopped.
When I returned to consciousness, I was lying on the couch in the
dining-room, with a wet cloth about my forehead, and mother was kneeling by
me, fanning me and crying. I put my arms about her neck, and begged her not
to cry, but my head ached so dreadfully that I could not keep back my own
tears. I asked where father was, and she said he went down-town when she
came. He did not return at supper-time, nor did we see him again until the
following morning.
I could eat no supper that night before going to bed, and mother came and
stayed with me. I am sure she did not sleep, for as often as I dropped off
from sheer exhaustion, I was wakened by her sobbing. Then I, too, would
cry. I tried to be brave, but my wounds hurt me so, and my head ached. I
seemed to be thinking all the time of father. My poor father! I felt sorry
for him, and kept wondering where he was. All through the night it seemed
to me that I could see him drinking and drinking, and betting and betting.
My back hurt dreadfully, and mother put some ointment and soft cotton on
it.
It was late in the morning when I awoke, and heard mother and father
talking down-stairs. With great difficulty, I climbed out of bed and
dressed myself. When I went down, mother had a fire in the dining-room
stove, and father was sitting, or rather lying, with both arms stretched
out upon the table, his face buried between them. By him on a plate were
some slices of toast that mother had prepared, and a cup of coffee, which
had lost its steam without being touched.
I went over by the stove and stood looking at father. I had remained there
but a moment, my heart full of sympathy for him, and wondering if he were
ill, when he raised his head and looked at me. I had never before seen him
look so haggard and pale. As his eyes rested on me, the tears started down
my cheeks.
"Carter, my child," he said hoarsely, "I have done you a great wrong. Can
you forgive me?"
In an instant my arms were about his neck--I felt no stiffness nor soreness
now. He folded me to his breast, and cried, as I did. After a long time he
spoke again:--
"If I had only known--your mother has just told me. It was the beer,
Carter, the beer. I will never touch the stuff again, never," he said
faintly. Then he stretched out his arms upon the table, and bowed his head
upon them. I stood awkwardly by, the tears streaming down my cheeks, but
they were tears of joy.
Mother, who was standing in the kitchen doorway with her apron to her eyes,
came and put her arm about him, and said something, very gently, which I
did not understand. Then she kissed me several times. I shall never forget
the happiness of that hour.
For a long time after that father would not go downtown in the evening
unless I could go with him. He lived to a good old age, and was for many
years head bookkeeper for Mr. Blodget. He kept his promise always.
Mother is still living, and still wears the ring.--_Alva H. Sawins, M.D.,
in the Union Signal_.
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