"Oh, Dad, I'm so sorry!" sobbed the boy. "I wanted to tell you—I meant to. It was just that I was too much of a coward. I was so ashamed of what I had done that I hadn't the nerve. After it was over it all seemed so wrong. I knew you would be angry—"
"Rather say sorry, son."
"Well, sorry. And now that you have been so white to me I'm more ashamed still."
"There, there, my boy, we will say no more about it," his father declared. "You and your conscience have probably had a pretty bitter battle and I judge you have not been altogether happy since your adventure. People who do wrong never are. It is no fun to carry your fault to bed with you and find it waiting when you wake up in the morning."
"You bet it isn't!" replied the lad, with fervor. "But can't I do something now to make good, Dad?"
Mr. Tolman checked an impulsive protest and after a moment responded gravely:
"We will see. Perhaps you would like to earn something toward doing over the car."
"Yes! Yes! I would!"
"Well, all that can be arranged later. We—"
"Henry," broke in Mrs. Tolman, "you must go this instant and get into some dry clothes. You are chilled through. The doctor says Stephen is going to be none the worse for his ducking and that he can come down stairs to dinner after he has rested a little longer. So our Thanksgiving party is not to be spoiled, after all. In fact, I believe we shall have more to give thanks for than we expected," concluded she, making an unsteady attempt to speak lightly.