“I am almost as unreasonable as Katharine,” said he; “I can’t give it up that Jamie is guilty. I must have a little talk with him myself before I am convinced.”
He went into the study. The poor boy was still crying bitterly. Mr. Dunlee seated himself in the big chair, and took him in his arms.
“Perhaps you thought mamma meant to give you the cake? Was that what you thought? To divide with your little friends?”
Jimmy could not answer.
“If so, that was only a mistake. Perhaps you carried it away, and cut it up in big pieces for the boys? Tell papa all about it.”
“O papa! I can’t tell; but I never touched the cake.”
“Then what did you carry off in your basket?”
“O papa! please don’t ask me,” wailed Jimmy. “’Twas something—something I can’t talk about! I promised not to.”
“My son, this grows more and more mysterious. I can’t urge you to break a promise, though why you should have made one I can’t possibly see. If you promised not to tell about the cake, that was wrong, and”—