"Are you sure?" asked Mrs. Dent, in great surprise. "Did you come in?"
"No, 'm, I jus' went 'n' peeked in de winder—de w'ite curting was pulled down, but I seen de shadder ob her woolly head on it."
"And what did you tell the girls?"
"I tole 'em dat wicked Phrony Jane was a-workin' at her lawn dress, she felt so stuck up about, on de Sabba' day, 'n' Mis' Dent ought to send her home, 'n' not keep no such trash about. She did, you see!" Phylly was triumphant.
"That was the story which reached me," said Miss Lawton.
"It's a very strange one," said Mrs. Dent. "Phrony Jane left here early on Sunday morning to go to her mother, who had met with an accident, and Johnny was here all the time. Of course no one was at the sewing-machine, Johnny?"
"No, ma'am," said Johnny, very positively.
Phylly was puzzled and crest-fallen, but stuck to her statement in a stubborn fashion, which made both ladies feel out of patience with her. Phrony Jane being called, was not informed of the dark accusation which had been out against her, but was so cheered by her teacher's kindly regrets for her disappointment, growing out of a misunderstanding, as to spend no more regrets over the pleasure she had lost.
But Johnny, after this, became so woe-begone and peak-faced, was so evidently drooping from his confinement to the house, that his mother grew concerned. She cooked nice things for him, read to him, brought boys to see him; but all to no effect. But when she staid at home from Sunday-school with him, alone with her in the quiet of the Sabbath morning, Johnny's reserve broke down, and in a great flood of penitential remorse out came the burden on his conscience. Then listening to his mother's words of sorrowful surprise, forgiveness, and loving admonition, he formed earnest resolutions of never again forgetting the sacredness of Sunday hours.
Then Mrs. Dent began to wonder over this queer unravelling of the mystery of the sewing-machine story, laughing as she remembered the "woolly head" that figured in it.