“I’ve been a bad boy,” cried David in a spasm of grief, and holding to the old cushion with desperate little hands.
“Oh, never, Davie,” exclaimed Polly, “you couldn’t be ever in all this world. Why, you are our Davie.”
At this Davie’s despair was greater than ever, and he burrowed his face deeper in the old chair.
“You see, Davie,” Polly ran on, “Mamsie trusts you, so you couldn’t be bad.” Phronsie meanwhile had sunk to the floor, and was silently gazing at the misery, lost to everything else. “No, you couldn’t be bad, because Mamsie trusts you so,” she repeated.
This was so much worse that David began to scream, and without any more words, Polly lifted him up and sitting down in Mamsie’s chair, she held him tightly in her lap.
“Now, David Pepper,” she said sternly, “you’ve just got to tell me what you’ve done.”
“I—I—can’t,” David hid his wet little face on her shoulder.
“Mamsie tells us not to say ‘can’t,’” said Polly decidedly. “Begin and tell me.”
“She—told—me—” began David in a shaking voice.
“Mrs. Henderson?”