“I don’t know,” he answered gruffly; “all night, perhaps.”
“Oh!” Rose’s tone was startled, and again there was a long silence.
“Aren’t you going to have any supper, Charlie?” she asked wistfully.
“No,” said Charlie. “Are you?”
“N-no,” said Rose hesitating, and then she gave a very long sigh.
Charlie chuckled. She had “told” of him. It was her fault. Since he had to suffer, it was some comfort to think that she must do so also. He was not a bit sorry.
“I wish we could have gone to the lake,” sighed Rose again. “I s’pect Aunt Mary went without us.” At this tantalizing thought Charlie retorted angrily:—
“If you had not been a cry-baby and a telltale, mother wouldn’t have punished me, and we could both have gone.”
“I didn’t tell!” cried Rose indignantly. “I wouldn’t have told if you had broken my leg off. I can’t bear telltales, and I wouldn’t be one for anything.”
“Well, how did mother know, then?” asked Charlie, somewhat less crossly.