An awkward, overgrown boy leaned against the door-casing, and covered his face with his hands.
“Tell me about it,” commanded Mrs. Pepper, “or I can’t help you.”
The boy caught his breath, then gasped, “’Tain’t that—Mother’s all right.”
“Then it is something about yourself,” said Mrs. Pepper kindly. “Now, Jimmy, you want me to help you, or you wouldn’t have come at this time of the night.”
“I’ve been walking up and down,” said Jimmy. “First, I waited till they were all abed, ’xcept you, and—” then he broke down.
“Well, now that you have come, you must tell me your trouble, or I can’t help you,” said Mrs. Pepper decidedly.
For answer, he ran his hand in the pocket of his shabby jacket, and pulling out something, timidly presented it—and Mrs. Pepper’s fingers were over Polly’s gold beads that Great-Grandmother Pepper had left her.
“Oh, Jimmy!” all the gladness over their coming back couldn’t stop the pain, “how could you!”
“I don’t know,” he gasped, and he looked so distressed that Mrs. Pepper hastened to say, “You didn’t think, Jimmy, you didn’t, how—”—“wicked,” she was going to say, when he burst out, “Yes, I did—I saw you through the window take ’em out of the bureau one time, and roll ’em up again and put ’em back. And I—I—wanted to go to the circus—it’s coming to Cherryville next week, and—and—”
It was no use, he couldn’t go on with Mrs. Pepper’s black eyes on him, but cowered worse yet against the door-casing.