"You! You took what did not belong to you, and then threw it away! Why, Rob! I am ashamed of you! Why, Rob, I wouldn't have believed it!" exclaimed Mr. March. "You will pay for those onions out of your allowance." And he looked at Rob more sternly than he had ever done in his life.
"Come, now, immediately," he continued, "and apologize to the man." And he took Rob by the hand and led him to the next seat.
"I am very sorry to tell you, sir," he said, "that my little boy here took your onions and threw them away. He shall buy some for you at the very first station where we can."
"What'd yer throw 'em away for?" said the man, looking curiously and not unkindly at Rob, whose face was enough to make anybody sorry for him.
"Because I hate the smell of them so," said Rob, sturdily; "and my mamma hates them too; and I found them rolling round on the floor, by our berth; and I just picked them up and threw them away. I didn't think about their being anybody's,—not until afterwards," he added; "and I'm very sorry, sir. I'll buy you some more out of my own money."
Mr. March smiled at this little explanation: he saw that Rob had not really intended to do wrong.
"No, no, my boy, you needn't do that," said the man; "we're going to get off before dinner time; an' we've got a bin full o' onions at home. I expect they do smell kind o' strong to folks that ain't used to 'em, but they're mighty healthy."
Rob walked back to his seat somewhat relieved, but still very much ashamed. He glanced up in his mother's face. She looked mortified; still there was a twinkle in her eyes: in the bottom of her heart, she sympathized with Rob's impulse to be rid of the onions at any cost.
"Oh, Rob!" she said, "how could you do such a thing? You knew they must belong to somebody."
"Well, I did afterwards,—after I told Nell; but, when I picked them up, I didn't think any thing except how they smelt. It was a good riddance anyhow."