"Don' know," stammered Willy, darting out of the store.
If his hair was wet it wouldn't do to go home till it was dry; for his father would find out that he had been in the brook, and the next thing in order would be a whipping. It was hard enough to lose the medal; Willy thought a whipping would be more than he could bear, for it was always given with a horsewhip out in the barn; and the unlucky boy could never help envying the cows, as they looked on, chewing their cuds with such an air of content and unconcern. Cows never were punished, nor sheep either. Good times they had—that's a fact. Sheep wouldn't mind a real heavy horse-whipping, they were done up so in wool; but when a little boy had to take off his jacket, why, there wasn't much over his skin to keep off the smart. Ugh! how it did hurt!
There was another advantage in being a sheep, or a cow, or a hen; animals of that sort never lost anything—didn't have medals to lose.
"And this wasn't mine," groaned Willy. "What'll the mistress do to me? Don' know; blister both hands, I s'pose!"
Willy had intended to play ball with the little boys, but it was not to be thought of now. Putting his fish behind a tree, he ran to the brook again and poked with a stick as far as he could reach; then waded in up to his knees, for the medal might have rolled out of his pocket.
"No, it couldn't; for my breeches were tucked in up there between two rocks."
Suddenly he recollected Gideon's going back to the bank.
"That wicked, mean boy!" almost screamed Willy. "He stole my medal! I'll go right off and tell mother!"
Mrs. Parlin had on her afternoon cap, and was sitting alone in the well-sanded "fore-room," doing the mending, and singing,—
"While shepherds watched their flocks by night,
All seated on the ground,"—