every corner of the pantry:  if half a pie were left over from dinner, it could not possibly be hidden under any pan, bowl, pail, or cunningly folded towel, but he would find it before supper.  Pieces of cake disappeared as if by magic, preserves were found strangely lowered in the crocks, pickles went by the wholesale, gingerbread never could be reckoned on after the first day, and once—­only once—­did Teddy’s mamma succeed in hiding a whole baking of apple tarts in the cellar for a day by setting them under a tub.  The cellar never was a safe place again; Aunt Ann tried it with doughnuts, and the crock was empty in two days.  She put her stick cinnamon on the top shelf in the closet, behind her medicine bottles, and when she wanted it a week after, there was not a sliver to be found.  Then the loaf sugar—­I don’t know but that was the worst of all.  Did he stuff his pockets with it? did he carry it away by the capful?  It seemed incredible that anything could go so fast.  One day, Aunt Ann detected Teddy behind the window curtain with a tumbler so nearly full of sugar that the water in it only made a thick syrup, and there he was reading “Robinson Crusoe” and sipping this delightful mixture.  From that moment Aunt Ann made up her mind that he should “stop it.”

“I’ll tell him it’s nothing more nor less than downright STEALING—­so I will,” muttered the good soul to herself; “the poor child’s never had proper teaching on the subject from one of us; he’s got all his pa’s appetite without the good principles of our side of the family to save him.”

So, the next day, the sugar being out, she bought two dollars’ worth while Teddy was at school, and without even telling his mother, she searched the house for a hiding-place.  She shook her head at the pantry and cellar, but she visited the garret, and the spare front chamber; she looked into the camphor-chest, she contemplated a barrel of potatoes, she moved about the things in her wardrobe, and at last she hid the sugar!  No danger of Teddy finding it this time!  Aunt Ann could not repress a smile of triumph as she sat down to her knitting.

Unconscious Teddy came home at noon, ate his dinner, and was off again.  His mother and Aunt Ann went out making calls that afternoon, and as Aunt Ann closed the street door she thought to herself—­

“I can really take comfort going out, I feel so safe in my mind, now that sugar is hid.”

But at tea-time she almost relented when she saw Teddy look into the sugar-bowl, and turn away without taking a single lump.

“He is really honorable,” she said to herself; “he thinks that is all there is, and he wont touch it.”  And she passed the gingerbread to him three times, as a reward of merit.

There was sugar enough in the bowl to sweeten all their tea the next day, and so far all went well.  But the third day, in the afternoon, up drove a carry-all to the gate, with Uncle Wright, Aunt Wright, and two stranger young ladies from the city—­all come to take tea, have a good time, and drive home again by moonlight.