"Why, sonny," said Stephen, "what are you staring at your plate so for? That's honey. Ever see any before?"
"This is the last chance Steve will have to pester me," thought the child; and he almost pitied him.
"Guess he'll feel sorry he's been so hard on a little fellow like me."
As for grown-up Seth, it was certain that his conscience would prick, and on the whole Willy was rather glad of it, for Seth had no right to correct him so much. "Only eighteen, and not my father either!"
Willy did not think much about himself, and how he would be likely to feel after he had left this dear old home—the home where every knot-hole in the floor was precious. It would not do to brood over that; and besides, there was sullen anger enough in his heart to crowd out every other feeling.
There were circles in the wood of the shed-door which he had made with a two-tined fork; and after supper he made some more, while waiting for a chance to pocket a plate of doughnuts. Of course it wasn't wrong to take doughnuts, when it was the last morsel he should ever eat from his mother's cupboard. He had the whole of eighteen cents in his leathern wallet; but that sum might fail before winter, and it was best to take a little food for economy's sake.
At quarter of seven he put on his cap, and was leaving the house, when his father said, severely,—
"Where are you going, young man?"
Mr. Parlin did not mean to be severe, but he usually called Willy a "young man" when he was displeased with him.
"Going to the post-office, sir, just as I always do."