So Sally went home. She couldn’t run fast enough, she wanted so badly to whisper in Mother’s ear the dreadful thing she had done.
But Mother had company, two strange ladies, who stayed until Sally thought they never meant to go.
And, somehow, when at last she and Mother were alone, Sally didn’t feel like telling. When Father came home, Sally didn’t feel like telling him, either.
She couldn’t eat her dinner. Her throat hurt, she said. She couldn’t swallow. She couldn’t speak.
She sat alone on the doorstep with Paulina in her arms, and was really glad when Mother called her to come in to bed.
Once in bed, Sally lay and tossed.
Why hadn’t she told Miss Neppy? Miss Neppy wouldn’t scold. Sally was not afraid of that. Did Miss Neppy know yet about the apron? Had she found it, tucked away in the lowest dresser drawer?
Perhaps Miss Neppy would come straight over the moment the apron was found. She might be coming over that very night. Perhaps she would say that Mother must buy her a new pink-and-white apron. Did such aprons cost very much? Sally didn’t know.
Perhaps, too, when Mrs. Burr heard of it, she would not allow Alice to play with Sally any more. And would Miss Neppy ever love Sally after this? If she thought it was wicked to have one hundred aprons, what would she think of a little girl who tore one and didn’t tell!
Oh, if Sally had only told Mother and Father! If only they knew!