Mother: "I suppose there's no use crying over it. The main thing is how we can find a way to keep it from happening again. Perhaps it would help, if we could find the right kind of punishment?" (No answer.) "What kind of punishment shall it be—the fairest we can think of? Suppose you decide it for yourself. What would you suggest?"
Boy (very nervous): "I don't know."
Mother: "How would it be if, the next time you told a lie, you and mother couldn't, either of you, go riding in the automobile for two days?"
Boy (troubled, thinking, giving her a look): "Two whole days?"
Mother (smiling): "That's a pretty big punishment but, after all, lying is a pretty bad thing, which we don't want to have happen. Suppose we start with that and agree on it—two whole days?"
Boy (looking down, thinking, very nervous): "If you couldn't go riding, either—why should you be punished?"
Mother: "Because I'm your own mother and I love you better than anything in the world. Whatever you do, can't help affecting me. Besides, you see, in a way, I'm largely responsible for whatever you do. If I don't bring you up right—isn't it my fault? And if we both have to be punished together, that may help you to remember."
Boy gives her a glance, looks down, thinking—begins to smile, hesitates.
Mother: "What are you thinking? Tell me."
Boy: "You mightn't know anything about it—if it was to the cook, or Delia, or Vincent—or somebody else?"