Anson, striving to keep his head above a shiny collar, about which was twisted a flaming red tie, was just issuing from the stairs. His mother opened her hand to display her gold piece, then closed it again. "You go right back upstairs and take off Willium's collar and tie," she commanded.
"It's my own collar an' tie," Anson declared, "Bill give it to me."
"Humph! That's jest like him, but why he should give you his best tie and collar is beyond me. Do you think you deserve any gifts from your brother after what you done to him? It jest goes to show you what a real good heart that boy has. I declare, Anson, I do wish you was more like him. Now you get your hair combed and your hat brushed and get away to Sunday School."
"Yes, Ma'am; ain't you agoin', Ma?"
"I'll be long shortly; don't you wait fer me."
"But where's Bill? Ain't he agoin?"
"No, he ain't agoin'; and now, not another of your fool questions. Slick your hair down and go at once. Do you hear me?"
Anson proceeded to obey orders without another word. As he picked up his hat and turned to the door, Mrs. Wilson opened her hand and held out the gold piece.
"Croaker found that and brought it to me," she said, proudly.
Anson's jaw dropped and he backed fearfully away.