My little boy is given a cent by Petrine with instructions to go to the baker's and buy some biscuits.
By that which fools call an accident, but which is really a divine miracle, if miracles there be, I overhear this instruction. Then I stand at my window and see him cross the street in his slow way and with bent head; only, he goes slower than usual and with his head bent more deeply between his small shoulders.
He stands long outside the baker's window, where there is a confused heap of lollipops and chocolates and sugar-sticks and other things created for a small boy's delight. Then he lifts his young hand, opens the door, disappears and presently returns with a great paper bag, eating with all his might.
And I, who, Heaven be praised, have myself been a thief in my time, run all over the house and give my orders.
My little boy enters the kitchen.
"Put the biscuits on the table," says Petrine.
He stands still for a moment and looks at her and at the table and at the floor. Then he goes silently to his mother.
"You're quite a big boy now, that you can buy biscuits for Petrine," says she, without looking up from her work.
His face is very long, but he says nothing. He comes quietly in to me and sits down on the edge of a chair.
"You have been over the way, at the baker's."