'That’s right!' he said. 'Let’s get out there in the road and warm up.'
Wilbur turned to enter the house.
'I’ll go with you,' Henry said.
They ascended the stairs, Wilbur lagging on every step and Henry breasting forward like a homeward-bound horse. They crossed the little upstairs hall and stood at the door of Wilbur’s room. The woolly ball lay on the bureau, its many colors garish in the sunset. Wilbur had left it in the drawer, but Rosa had been in the room putting away his freshly ironed clothes, and had taken it out and placed it on top of the bureau for all the world to see.
Wilbur shut his eyes and waited for a bitter outcry from Henry. There was, however, a moment of silence, and then Henry demanded impatiently,—
'Well, where is it at?'
Wilbur opened his eyes and regarded Henry stupidly. Henry then did not even recognize the strange, bright object on the bureau as a ball. Probably he took it for a pincushion. The shock of the unexpected reprieve made Wilbur feel faint and confused.
'It’s here—it’s right in this room,' he stammered.
'In the bruy-yo?' Henry asked, pointing toward the old-fashioned bureau.
'I—I left it in the top drawer of the bruy-yo.'