§2 PASTORAL DAYS. 



him another sits — a helpmeet kind and true, cherished companion in a 

 happy, useful life. Into her lap a nestling lad has climbed ; and as she 

 strokes the curly head and looks into the chubby face, I see the same 

 expression as of old, the same motherly tenderness and love beaming 

 from the large gray eyes. 



Mr. Snug is leaning back in his easy-chair, and two boys are stand- 

 ing up before him ; one of them is speaking, evidently in answer to a 

 question. 



" I called him a galoot, sir." 



" You called George a galoot, and then he threw the base-ball club at 

 you— is that it ?" 



" Yes, sir," interrupted George ; " but I was only playing, sir." 



"Yes," resumed the voice of Mr. Snug, "but that club went with con- 

 siderable force, and landed over the fence, and made havoc in Deacon 

 Farish's onion-bed ; and that reminds me that the deacon's onion-bed is 

 overrun with weeds. Now, Willie," continued Mr. Snug, after a moment's 

 hesitation, with eyes closed, and head thrown back against the chair, 

 " Saturday morning — to-morrow, that is — directly after breakfast, you go 

 out into the grove and call names to the big rock for half an hour. 

 Don't stop to take breath ; and don't call the same name twice. Your 

 vocabulary will easily stand the drain. You understand ?" 



" Yes, sir." 



"And, George," continued Mr. Snug, with deliberate, easy intonation, 

 " to-morrow morning, at the same time, you present yourself politely to 

 Deacon Farish, tell him that I sent you, and ask him to escort you to 

 his onion-bed. After which you will go carefully to work and pull out 

 all the weeds. You understand, sir ?" 

 Yes, sir. 



"And then you will both report to me as usual." And with a pleas- 

 ant smile, which was reflected in both their faces, the erring; voungsters 

 were dismissed. Before the door has closed behind them we are stand- 

 ing in the door-way. Here I draw the curtain; for who but one of its 

 own household could understand a welcome at the Snuggery ? 



Those of my old school-mates who read this meagre sketch will know 

 the happiness of such a meeting ; but others less fortunate in the recol- 

 lections of school-life can only look for its counterpart in an affectionate 

 welcome in their own homes, for the Snuggery is a home to all who ever 

 dwelt within its gates. Seated in the familiar cosiness, and surrounded 



