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 assertions, 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.  Willy’s father had come, and he also heard the story.

“There’s some mistake about it,” said he.  “I’ll make Willy tell me about it, to-morrow.  Nothing is going to make me believe that he is persisting in a deliberate lie in this way.”

Willy’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 Willy in the morning,” his father said again, when the discussion was ended for the night.

Willy 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 Willy’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 Willy 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 Willy’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 glasses, and can’t see very well without them, and she thought he was Willy.  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.”