But the
action did not escape Willis' sharp eyes.
"You got any?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Let's see. Oh, a nickel! Thought maybe it was just a penny. What a
lot ten cents would get. What kind do you like best?"
"I like chocolate best."
"Do you? Why, so do I. Say we get some?"
"I don't believe mamma would like it. She said we mustn't buy things
on Sunday."
"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.
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