Jack hung his head, “I took a little walk, and then—and then—I was afraid it was late, and some children were playing—!”
“Oh, you naughty boy! That is playing truant. I don’t know what your father will say!”
“I don’t want to any more. I’d rather go to school. It wasn’t funny a bit. And I don’t want to ride in any old wagon that jounces and jounces, and I did get so tired. What did the teacher say?”
“They have to put the true reason down in the record book. And there it will stay always. My nice little boy was a truant-player. And we shall all be so ashamed. What will your father say? And he was so afraid last night that you were killed!”
“Oh, mama, I never will do it again, never!” Jack hung round his mother’s neck and cried and she cried with him, thinking of her tumult 54 of agony last night. And she had him safe—her little boy!
“Jack,” she began presently, “can’t you be brave enough to tell papa how it began. Climb up in his lap and tell him how sorry and ashamed you are.”
“Will he strap me?”
“You deserve it I think. But he surely would if I told him. And when people do wrong they must bear the punishment.”
“But I never will do it again.”
“Tell him that, too.”