misfortune to have had three husbands, and her daughters did not all revere the memory of the same father, and consequently there were oftentimes differences among them.

    For several days after this transaction I had noticed on the
    table at our daily meal a nice dish of honey, an unusual treat,
    but to which we boys paid due respect.

My term at school expired, and I went home to my father’s, a distance of some thirty miles, and assisted him on the farm during the fall months, employing much of my leisure time in studying.

My father was a stern, straight-forward man—­a member of the Orthodox church, and one who professed to believe in all the proprieties of life, and endeavored to impress the same on the minds of his children.

    One day, after dinner, he said to me, in his stern way of
    speaking,—­’Gilbert, what kind of scrape did you get into in
    G——?’

For my life I could not tell what I had been doing, and had but little chance to think, ere he tossed a letter across the table and said, ‘Read that, and tell me what it means!’ The letter was directed to me, but he had exercised his right to open and read it for me.  It was from G——­, and signed by the four deacons of the church there, asking explicit answers to the following questions:—­1st.  Did you help Deacon Hubbard hive his bees? 2d.  If so, did you receive any remuneration from him for your services? 3d.  Will you state what it was?  You are expected to answer the questions fully.’

    ‘What have you to say to that, young man?’ said my father, with
    more than usual sternness; and I began to think that I had got
    into some kind of difficulty.

I told him that I would answer the letter, so went to my room and wrote, saying that I did help Deacon Hubbard hive his bees, and that I had been paid a thousand times by the many acts of kindness of himself and wife, and should always feel happy in doing anything for them that I could.

As my father read this letter I had written, I noticed a smile on his countenance, which lasted but an instant, when he said, ’You may send it; but I want to know what this scrape is, and I will.’

A few days after the reply was sent, another letter arrived from the four deacons, stating that I had not been explicit enough in my answer, and wanted me to say, 1st.  Whether I had helped Deacon Hubbard hive his bees on Sunday. 2d.  Whether I had ever received from him a large pan of honey in the comb? 3d.  Whether my father was a member of the church? 4th.  Whether he would give his consent for me to come to G——­ on business of great importance if they would pay my expenses, and how soon I could come?

It was cold weather, several months after I left G——­, when this letter came to hand, and I did not fancy a ride of