“Did—­did—­I steal?” wavered Billy.

Wesley’s big hands closed until he almost hurt the boy.

“No!” he said vehemently.  “That is too big a word.  You made a mistake.  You were trying to be a fine little man, but you went at it the wrong way.  You only made a mistake.  All of us do that, Billy.  The world grows that way.  When we make mistakes we can see them; that teaches us to be more careful the next time, and so we learn.”

“How wouldn’t it be a mistake?”

“If you had told Aunt Margaret what you wanted to do, and asked her for the cookies she would have given them to you.”

“But I was ’fraid she wouldn’t, and you ist had to have it.”

“Not if it was wrong for me to have it, Billy.  I don’t want it that much.”

“Must I take it back?”

“You think hard, and decide yourself.”

“Lift me down,” said Billy, after a silence, “I got to put this in the jar, and tell her.”

Wesley set the boy on the floor, but as he did so he paused one second and strained him close to his breast.

Margaret sat in her chair sewing; Billy slipped in and crept beside her.  The little face was lined with tragedy.

“Why Billy, whatever is the matter?” she cried as she dropped her sewing and held out her arms.  Billy stood back.  He gripped his little fists tight and squared his shoulders.  “I got to be shut up in the closet,” he said.

“Oh Billy!  What an unlucky day!  What have you done now?”

“I stold!” gulped Billy.  “He said it was ist a mistake, but it was worser ’an that.  I took something you told me I wasn’t to have.”

“Stole!” Margaret was in despair.  “What, Billy?”

“Cookies!” answered Billy in equal trouble.

“Billy!” wailed Margaret.  “How could you?”

“It was for him and you,” sobbed Billy.  “He said he couldn’t eat it ’fore me, but out in the barn it’s all dark and I couldn’t see.  I thought maybe he could there.  Then we might put out the light and you could have yours.  He said I only made it worse, cos I mustn’t take things, so I got to go in the closet.  Will you hold me tight a little bit first?  He did.”

Margaret opened her arms and Billy rushed in and clung to her a few seconds, with all the force of his being, then he slipped to the floor and marched to the closet.  Margaret opened the door.  Billy gave one glance at the light, clinched his fists and, walking inside, climbed on a box.  Margaret closed the door.

Then she sat and listened.  Was the air pure enough?  Possibly he might smother.  She had read something once.  Was it very dark?  What if there should be a mouse in the closet and it should run across his foot and frighten him into spasms.  Somewhere she had heard—­Margaret leaned forward with tense face and listened.  Something dreadful might happen.  She could bear it no longer.  She arose hurriedly and opened the door.  Billy was drawn up on the box in a little heap, and he lifted a disapproving face to her.