She was very quiet all during the evening, meekly holding some worsted for her aunt, then taking a very dull book, and trying to read it. But she was very glad when bedtime came.
Usually it was a very few minutes after her head touched the pillow that she was asleep; but this night slumber did not easily come, and the pillow was very damp under the rosy cheek which lay upon it. "O, dear!" sighed the conscience-stricken child. "It didn't do a bit of good to go without the apples; I can't go to sleep, and it's been nearly all night since I came up stairs. O, dear, what shall I do?"
The moments became harder and harder to bear, and, finally, with but one thought in her mind, she slipped out of bed and down stairs. It was not very late, although it seemed so to the child. Uncle Justus and Aunt Elizabeth were still in the sitting-room. They were surprised by the appearance of a little form standing in the doorway.
"Why, Edna, what are you doing here in your night clothes?" exclaimed Aunt Elizabeth. "Are you ill?"
"No," replied Edna, below her breath, while the lump in her throat seemed to grow bigger and bigger.
After the first glance Uncle Justus's eyes did not turn from the newspaper he was reading.
"What is the matter, then?" asked Aunt Elizabeth, with a piercing look. "You are not ill."
"No, I'm not ill, Aunt Elizabeth," replied the child. "I'm wicked. I've stoled."
"What do you mean? What was it you took?" asked Aunt Elizabeth.
"Two baked apples."