The Pot of Gold, and Other Stories Part 22

"I didn't--do--any"--

"Hush," said she, "don't you say that again, w.i.l.l.y!" But she kept her arm around him.

w.i.l.l.y's mother came running to the door to meet them when they arrived. She had heard nothing of the trouble. She had only had a hurried message that they were coming to-day.

She threw her arms around w.i.l.l.y, then she held him back and looked at him. "Why, what is the matter with my precious boy!" she cried.

"O, mamma, mamma, I didn't, I didn't do anything with it!" he sobbed, and clung to her so frantically that she was alarmed.

"What does he mean, mother?" she asked.

Her mother motioned her to be quiet. "Oh! it isn't anything," said she. "You'd better give him his supper, and get him to bed; he's all tired out. I'll tell you by and by," she motioned with her lips.

So w.i.l.l.y's mother soothed him all she could. "Of course you didn't, dear," said she. "Mamma knows you didn't. Don't you worry any more about it."

It was early, but she got some supper for him, and put him to bed, and sat beside him until he went to sleep. She told him over and over that she knew he "didn't," in reply to his piteous a.s.sertions, and all the time she had not the least idea what it was all about.

After he had fallen asleep she went downstairs, and Grandma Stockton told her. w.i.l.l.y's father had come, and he also heard the story.

"There's some mistake about it," said he. "I'll make w.i.l.l.y tell me about it, to-morrow. Nothing is going to make me believe that he is persisting in a deliberate lie in this way."

w.i.l.l.y's mother was crying herself, now. "He never--told me a lie in his whole dear little life," she sobbed, "and I don't believe he has now. Nothing will ever--make me believe so."

"Don't cry, Ellen," said her husband. "There's something about this that we don't understand."

It was all talked over and over that night, but they were no nearer understanding the case.

"I'll see what I can do with w.i.l.l.y in the morning," his father said again, when the discussion was ended for the night.

w.i.l.l.y was not awake at the breakfast hour next morning, so the family sat down without him. They were not half through the meal when there were some quick steps on the path outside; the door was jerked open, and there was aunt Annie and uncle Frank.

She had w.i.l.l.y's little yellow cane in her hand, and she looked as if she did not know whether to laugh or cry.

"It's found!" she cried out, "it's found! Oh! where is he? He left his cane, poor little boy!"

Then she really sank into a chair and began to cry. There were exclamations and questions and finally they arrived at the solution of the mystery.

Poor little w.i.l.l.y had not done anything with Grandpa's coat. Mrs.

Perry had not given it to him. She had--given it to another boy.

"Last night about seven o'clock," said uncle Frank. "Mr. Gilbert Hammond brought it into the store. It seems he sent his boy, who is just about w.i.l.l.y's age, and really looks some like him, for a bundle he expected to come by express. The boy was to have some shoes in it.

"I suppose mother caught a glimpse of him, and very likely she didn't have on her gla.s.ses, and can't see very well without them, and she thought he was w.i.l.l.y. She was changing her dress, too, and I dare say only opened the door a little way. Then the Hammond boy's got a grandfather, and the shoes and the whole thing hung together.

"Mr. Hammond said he meant to have brought the bundle back before, but they had company come the next day, and it was overlooked.

"Father and mother both came running over the minute they heard of it, and nothing would suit Annie but we should start right off on the night train, and come down here and explain. And, to tell the truth, I wanted to come myself--I felt as if we owed it to the poor little chappie."

Uncle Frank's own voice sounded husky. The thought of all the suffering that poor little innocent boy had borne was not a pleasant one.

Everything that could be done to atone to w.i.l.l.y was done. He was loved and praised and petted, as he had never been before; in a little while he seemed as well and happy as ever.

The next Christmas Grandpa Perry sent a beautiful little gold watch to him, and he was so delighted with it that his father said, "He doesn't worry a bit now about the trouble he had in Exeter. That watch doesn't seem to bring it to mind at all. How quickly children get over things.

He has forgotten all about it."

But w.i.l.l.y Norton had not forgotten all about it. He was just as happy as ever. He had entirely forgiven Grandma Perry for her mistake. Next summer he was going to Exeter again and have a beautiful time; but a good many years would pa.s.s, and whenever he looked at that little gold watch, he would see double. It would have for him a background of his grandfather's best coat.

Innocence and truth can feel the shadow of unjust suspicion when others can no longer see it.

THE STRANGER IN THE VILLAGE.

"Margary," said her mother, "take the pitcher now, and fetch me some fresh, cool water from the well, and I will cook the porridge for supper."

"Yes, mother," said Margary. Then she put on her little white dimity hood, and got the pitcher, which was charmingly shaped, from the cupboard shelf. The cupboard was a three-cornered one beside the chimney. The cottage which Margary and her mother lived in, was very humble, to be sure, but it was very pretty. Vines grew all over it, and flowering bushes crowded close to the diamond-paned windows. There was a little garden at one side, with beds of pinks and violets in it, and a straw-covered beehive, and some raspberry bushes all yellow with fruit.

Inside the cottage, the floor was sanded with the whitest sand; lovely old straight-backed chairs stood about; there was an oaken table, and a spinning-wheel. A wicker cage, with a lark in it, hung in the window.

Margary with her pitcher, tripped along to the village well. On the way she met two of her little mates--Rosamond and Barbara. They were flying along, their cheeks very rosy and their eyes s.h.i.+ning.

"O, Margary," they cried, "come up to the tavern, quick, and see! The most beautiful coach-and-four is drawn up there. There are lackeys in green and gold, with c.o.c.ked hats, and the coach hath a crest on the side--O, Margary!"

Margary's eyes grew large too, and she turned about with her empty pitcher and followed her friends. They had almost reached the tavern, and were in full sight of the coach-and-four, when some one coming toward them caused them to draw up on one side of the way and stare with new wonder. It was a most beautiful little boy. His golden curls hung to his shoulders, his sweet face had an expression at once gentle and n.o.ble, and his dress was of the richest material. He led a little flossy white dog by a ribbon.

After he had pa.s.sed by, the three little girls looked at each other.

"Oh!" cried Rosamond, "did you see his hat and feather?"

"And his lace Vand.y.k.e, and the fluffy white dog!" cried Barbara. But Margary said nothing. In her heart, she thought she had never seen any one so lovely.

Then she went on to the well with her pitcher, and Rosamond and Barbara went home, telling every one they met about the beautiful little stranger.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE LITTLE STRANGER.]

Margary, after she had filled her pitcher, went home also; and was beginning to talk about the stranger to her mother, when a shadow fell across the floor from the doorway. Margary looked up. "There he is now!" cried she in a joyful whisper.

The pretty boy stood there indeed, looking in modestly and wishfully.

Margary's mother arose at once from her spinning-wheel, and came forward; she was a very courteous woman. "Wilt thou enter, and rest thyself," said she, "and have a cup of our porridge, and a slice of our wheaten bread, and a bit of honeycomb?"

The little boy sniffed hungrily at the porridge which was just beginning to boil; he hesitated a moment, but finally thanked the good woman very softly and sweetly and entered.

Then Margary and her mother set a bottle of cowslip wine on the table, slices of wheaten bread, and a plate of honeycomb, a bowl of ripe raspberries, and a little jug of yellow cream, and another little bowl with a garland of roses around the rim, for the porridge. Just as soon as that was cooked, the stranger sat down, and ate a supper fit for a prince. Margary and her mother half supposed he was one; he had such a courtly, yet modest air.