answered him loudly and deliberately.

"Sir," said he, "I will not go to Uttoxeter market!"

Mr. Johnson had seen a great deal of the lad's obstinacy ever since his
birth; and while Sam was younger, the old gentleman had probably used
the rod whenever occasion seemed to require. But he was now too feeble
and too much out of spirits to contend with this stubborn and violent-
tempered boy. He therefore gave up the point at once, and prepared to
go to Uttoxeter himself.

"Well, Sam," said Mr. Johnson, as he took his hat and staff, "if for the
sake of your foolish pride you can suffer your poor sick father to stand
all day in the noise and confusion of the market when he ought to be in
his bed, I have no more to say. But you will think of this, Sam, when I
am dead and gone."

So the poor old man (perhaps with a tear in his eye, but certainly with
sorrow in his heart) set forth towards Uttoxeter. The gray-haired,
feeble, melancholy Michael Johnson! How sad a thing it was that he
should be forced to go, in his sickness, and toil for the support of an
ungrateful son who was too proud to do anything for his father, or his
mother, or himself! Sam looked after Mr. Johnson with a sullen
countenance till he was out of sight.

But when the old man's figure, as he went stooping along the street, was
no more to be seen, the boy's heart began to smite him. He had a vivid
imagination, and it tormented him with the image of his father standing
in the market-place of Uttoxeter and offering his books to the noisy
crowd around him. Sam seemed to behold him arranging his literary