“No, she will not,” said Charlie, positively. “I know she will not.”
“Not if I ask her? Not if I tell her that it makes me very sad to have you here?” Rose’s voice trembled.
“No,” said Charlie, “I don’t think I shall ever come out.”
“Oh!” cried Rose in horror. “Then we shall die here together. We shall starve to death like the Babes in the Woods; but there will be no Robin Redbreasts to cover us with leaves. Oh, Charlie! Surely Aunt Mary would not be so cruel.”
Charlie could not bear to have any one think so of his kind mother. “Mamma is not cruel,” he said. “If I stay here it is my own choice. I could come out now, if I chose to—to say—something.”
Rose clapped her hands. “Oh, say it, say it now, Charlie!” she cried.
At that moment a bell rang invitingly from downstairs. “Do say it, Charlie,” she begged. “There is the supper bell, and I am so hungry, aren’t you?”
Charlie was very hungry, but he bit his lip and answered, “No, I will not say it.”
“Oh, why not?” begged Rose. “What is it that you must say? Is it so very hard?”
“Well,—I must say that I am sorry because I pushed you.” Charlie blurted out the words with a gulp of shame.