Is this a real, live boy who tells this story? He did two things, a bad one and a good one. You probably would not have done the bad one. Try to think out for yourself, not to answer the question to your teacher or class, whether or not you would have done the good one.
I
My father was seated on the lawn before the house, his straw hat over his eyes, and his book on his lap. Suddenly a beautiful delft blue-and-white flower-pot, which had been set on the window-sill of an upper story, fell to the ground with a crash, and the fragments flew up round my father's feet. But my father continued to read.
"Dear, dear!" cried my mother, who was at work in the porch; "my poor flower-pot, that I prized so much! I would rather the best tea-set were broken! The poor geranium I reared myself, and the dear, dear flower-pot which Mr. Caxton bought for me my last birthday! That naughty child must have done this!"
I came out of the house as bold as brass, and said rapidly, "Yes, mother, it was I who pushed out the flower-pot."
"Hush!" said my nurse, while gazing at my father, who had very slowly taken off his hat, and was looking on with serious, wide-awake eyes. "Hush! And if he did break it, ma'am, it was quite an accident. He was standing so, and he never meant it. Did you? Speak!" this in a whisper, "or father will be so very angry."
"Well," said mother, "I suppose it was an accident; take care in the future, my child. You are sorry, I see, to have grieved me. There is a kiss; don't fret."
"No, mother, you must not kiss me; I don't deserve it, I pushed out the flower-pot on purpose."
"Ah! and why?" said my father, walking up.