"Why, what in the world is this?" exclaimed Grace, as something heavy dropped at her feet.
It was her mother's watch, which had fallen out of Horace's pocket.
"Where did you get this watch?"
No answer.
"Why, Horace, it doesn't tick: have you been playing with it?"
Still no answer.
"Now, that's just like you, Horace, to shut your mouth right up tight, and not speak a word when you're spoken to. I never saw such a boy! I'm going downstairs, this very minute, to tell my mother you've been hurting her beautiful gold watch!"
"Stop!" cried the boy, suddenly finding his voice; "I reckon I can fix it! I was meaning to tell ma! I only wanted to see that little thing inside that ticks. I'll bet I'll fix it. I didn't go to hurt it, Grace!"
"O, yes, you feel like you could mend watches, and fire guns, and be soldiers and generals," said Grace, shaking her ringlets; "but I'm going right down to tell ma!"
Horace's lips curled with scorn.