After this rebuke from Seth, Willy could not very well go on with his confessions; the heart was gone out of him, and he curled up, limp and quiet, like a caterpillar again.
"Meant to run away—did you?" went on Seth, who ought to have known better than to pursue the subject; "to run away like a little dirty vagabond! You've nearly killed mother, I wish you to understand. You'll get a severe thrashing for this. I shall tell father not to show you any mercy."
"Come, now, don't kick a fellow when he's down," said Stephen. "Willy will be ashamed enough of this."
"Well, he ought to be ashamed! If he'd had a teaspoonful of brains he'd have known better than to cut up such a caper as this. Did you think you could run off so far but that we could find you, child?"
No answer.
"What did you little goslings mean to do with yourselves? Live on acorns? And what did Fred's uncle say when he saw him coming into the house in that shape?"
No answer.
Stephen looked down at the curled-up bunch on the floor of the wagon, and as it did not move, he gently touched it with his foot.
"Poor little thing," said he, "I guess he's had a pretty hard cruise of it; he's sound asleep."