Why, that was dreadful! How could men live together if they did not speak the truth?
His sister said she could not explain that, but now she would go her way, and never wished to see again a brother who made her so unhappy.
Christian felt quite nervous by having so much attention concentrated on his person; he was not accustomed to people busying themselves about him, and this close dealing with his soul had disturbed his wonted equanimity. These people begged and implored him to do them a service; he could make them happy or miserable with a word—he was therefore a person of importance. This made him self-conscious, and he was seized with a desire to see the result of his intervention on their behalf. It was merely a matter of saying "yes" instead of "no," and after all what did it signify when all men were accustomed to change little words in case of need. Perhaps he would have fared better if he had done so before. His resolve was taken.
His father then entered and asked him if it was possible for a boy to collect such a stock of things?
Yes it was, if one did nothing else and was diligent.
His father could not believe it; he had never seen it and therefore found it incredible.
Christian repeated his affirmation. His father asked him to confess that he had stolen. Christian said "yes." His father, with the knife in his hand, asked whether he would confess to the bailiff. Christian promised solemnly to do so. His father cut the rope and they went together to the cottage. There sat the bailiff eating his porridge peacefully.
"Has he confessed?" he asked, letting his spoon rest.
"He has," said the father, to the great joy of those of the family who were present.
But the bailiff seemed to have made some miscalculation, for he was not glad.