“I’d just as lief go alone, I guess,” replied Comfort, who was not crying any more, but was quite pale.  “I’m real obliged to you, Matilda.”

“Well, I’d just as lief go as not, if you wanted me to,” said Matilda.  “I hope your mother won’t say much.  Good-by, Comfort.”

“Good-by,” returned Comfort.

Then Matilda went into her house, and Comfort hurried home alone down the snowy road in the deepening dusk.  She kept thinking of that dreadful story which Matilda had read.  She was panting for breath.  Anxiety and remorse and the journey to Bolton had almost exhausted poor little Comfort Pease.  She hurried as fast as she could, but her feet felt like lead, and it seemed to her that she should never reach home.  But when at last she came in sight of the lighted kitchen windows her heart gave a joyful leap, for she saw her mother’s figure moving behind them, and knew that Matilda’s story was not true in her case.

When she reached the door she leaned against it a minute.  She was so out of breath, and her knees seemed failing under her.  Then she opened the door and went in.

Her father and mother and grandmother were all in there, and they turned round and stared at her.

“Comfort Pease,” cried her mother, “what is the matter?”

“You didn’t fall down, or anythin’, did you?” asked her grandmother.

Then Comfort burst out with a great sob of confession.  “I—­took—­it,” she gasped.  “I took my gold ring that Aunt Comfort gave me for her name—­and—­I wore it to school, and Miss Tabitha pinned it in my pocket, and I lost it.  And Matilda she gave me the gold dollar her Uncle Jared gave her to buy me another, and we walked a mile and a half apiece to Bolton, to buy it in Gerrish’s, and I couldn’t; and I was afraid something had happened to mother; and I’m sorry.”  Then Comfort sobbed until her very sobs seemed failing her.

Her father wiped his eyes.  “Don’t let that child cry that way, Em’ly,” said he to Mrs. Pease.  Then he turned to Comfort.  “Don’t you feel so bad, Comfort,” he coaxed.  “Father’ll get you some peppermints when he goes down to the store to-night.”  Comfort’s father gave her a hard pat on her head; then he went out of the room with something that sounded like an echo of Comfort’s own sobs.

“Comfort,” said Mrs. Pease, “look here, child.  Stop crying, and listen to what I’ve got to say.  I want you to come into the parlor with me a minute.”

Comfort followed her mother weakly into the best parlor.  There on the table stood the rosewood work-box, and her mother went straight across to it and opened it.

“Look here, Comfort,” said she; and Comfort looked.  There in its own little compartment lay the ring.  “Miss Tabitha Hanks found it in the road, and she thought you had taken it unbeknownst to me, and so she brought it here,” explained her mother.  “I didn’t let you know because I wanted to see if you would be a good girl enough to tell me of your own accord, and I’m glad you have, Comfort.”