"Do you know anything about the tools, Frank?"
"I! What should I know about them? It wasn't my business to put them away."
"No, I know it wasn't; only I thought that perhaps you might have wanted to use them after I had put them away; and, if you did so, I would not say a word about it, Frank, if you would only just tell me; for I feel so certain I put them all away, and it makes me feel so unhappy to be suspected."
"I know nothing about them," said Frank, doggedly.
"What is the matter with you, Walter?" said his mother that evening, as her son sat poring over the fire, and scarcely speaking a word.
"Nothing, mother, nothing; at least, nothing very particular," he added.
"Nay, Walter, it cannot be a mere trifle which has made you so different from what you generally are. Tell me what it is, my son; maybe I can help you."
"I never did yet keep anything from you, dear mother," said Walter; "only, in this instance, I thought I might be mistaken, and I did not like to say anything to you until I was quite certain."
Walter then told his mother all that had taken place at the yard that morning, and ended by assuring her that he had left nothing undone when he left work the previous evening.
"It is hard, mother, is it not, that both Mr. King and the foreman suspect me?"