“She'll never know. That's nothing bad, either.”
When the collection basket was passed around, Harlis looked almost ready to cry. “Did you forget your money?” said Miss Beatrice, pleasantly. Harlis so seldom came without it that it was noticeable.
“Yes'm,” answered the little boy, almost without thinking what he was saying. He was so uncomfortable, and Willie was making eyes at him.
“Never mind, bring it next Sunday,” said Miss Beatrice, noticing the flushed face and telltale eyes, and not understanding quite what it meant.
If mamma had not been sick, the trouble would surely have come out earlier, because mamma would have seen in a minute that something was wrong. After the late dinner, there was nothing to do but cuddle up in the corner of the sofa with his books. Just as it was growing dark, papa came down from the sick room. He found Harlis with his head buried in the sofa cushion.
“What's the matter?” said papa briskly, picking up his little boy. “Lonesome? Too bad! Thought you went to Aunt Lucy's with Esther.”
“I didn't want to,” said Harlis, breaking out in big, shaking sobs.
Papa knew something was wrong, then, and by degrees the story came out.
Papa said very little, for he seemed to understand the real suffering Harlis had already gone through because of his wrongdoings.
“But the nickel was mine,” said Harlis, as he and mamma were talking it over.