The boys knew Grandmother
Eliot, who wore her seventy years with right queenly grace, and never
failed to have a kind word for man, woman and child in the old home.
"Eugene," she called to the Squire, imperatively, "I can't allow this,
my son. The boys have been punished enough. Their fault was in not
seeing that you cannot do evil that good may come. Let every one of
these young gentlemen come here to me. I want to talk with them."
Now it is probable that most of the boys would have preferred a sharp
blow or two from the Squire's cane to a reproof from his gentle old
mother, whose creed led her to heap coals of fire on the heads of those
who did wrong. But they had no choice. There was no help for it. They
had to go up, shears, baskets and all, and let old Lady Eliot talk to
them; and then, as they were going away, who should come out but a
white-capped maid, with cake and lemonade, to treat the young
depredators to refreshments.
"There's only one fellow in our class who deserves cake and lemonade,"
exclaimed Frank, "and he isn't here. We've all treated him meaner than
dirt. We've been horrid to him, because he wouldn't join us in this. Now
he's out of this scrape and we're in."
"Harry Pemberton," said Squire Eliot, who had locked up his cane, and
was quite calm, "Harry Pemberton, that's Lida Scott's boy, mother. Lida
would bring him up well, I'm sure. Well, he shall have a lot of roses
to-morrow to lay on Colonel Pemberton's grave.
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