“Do you know where they are, dear?” asked Mamma.
“Oh!” said Johnny again. “I think—they are in—the sand box!”
“In the sand box!” said Mamma.
“The Boy Over the Fence said they wasn’t red,” said Johnny; “and they was, and I gotted them and showed him, and then Maggie called me, and—and—I think that is all I know.”
“My goodness!” said Mamma. And she ran down-stairs and out into the yard to the sand box. But no red shoes or white stockings were there. Mamma looked all about carefully. There was the red tin pail, and the blue tin pail, both turned upside down, and the old kitchen spoon laid across them. And there were the marks of Johnny’s moccasins, and—oh! there were the marks of another pair of shoes, a little bigger than Johnny’s, with heels to them.
“My goodness!” said Mamma. “You don’t suppose—” but she did not say what you didn’t suppose.
She looked over toward the next yard. There was no one there, but there were muddy footmarks leading from the fence to the sand box, and sandy footmarks leading back from the sand box to the fence.
“Now,” said Mamma, “I am afraid—” but she did not say what she was afraid of.
Just as she was stepping out of the sand box, her foot struck against the red tin pail and knocked it over; and—what do you think? Inside of the pail was one red shoe and one white stocking.
“My goodness!” said Mamma again. Then she turned over the blue tin pail, and there was the other red shoe and the other white stocking.