Little Grandfather Part 8

"If Gideon will not return it, you must pay Miss Judkins a quarter of a dollar."

"With a hole in," sighed w.i.l.l.y. "Why, I've only got two cents in this world."

"O, well," said Mrs. Parlin, hopefully, "perhaps you can hire out to papa, and earn the rest."

"O, if he'll _only_ let me! Won't you please ask him, mamma?" cried w.i.l.l.y, filled with a new hope. "Ask him, and get Love to ask him, too.

_I_ shouldn't dare do it, you know."

CHAPTER VII

THE BOY THAT CHEATED.

The next Monday Seth happened to go into the shed-chamber for a piece of leather to mend an old harness, and met w.i.l.l.y coming down the stairs with a basket full of old iron.

"Stop a minute, w.i.l.l.y. What have you got there?"

w.i.l.l.y would have obeyed at once, if it had not been for that lordly tone and air of Seth's, which always made him feel contrary.

"Stop, I say!" repeated Seth. "What have you got there?"

"Old iron."

"Old iron? Did mother send you after it?"

"No."

"Well, then, go carry it right back."

w.i.l.l.y did not stir.

"Old iron is worth money, little boy."

"Yes; I know that."

"And what business have you with it?"

"Going to sell it."

"What? Without asking mother, you naughty boy?"

w.i.l.l.y set the heavy basket on the next lower stair.

"So you went up stairs for that iron without leave? What a wicked boy!"

w.i.l.l.y set the basket on another stair.

"Bellows' nose, old tea-kettle, rusty nails," said Seth, examining the basket.

"w.i.l.l.y Parlin, do you know this is stealing."

"'Tisn't, neither!"

"But I tell you it is! Just as much stealing as if you took money out of father's wallet."

"I don't steal," said w.i.l.l.y, setting the basket on another stair.

Seth was growing exasperated.

"If you don't intend to mind me, w.i.l.l.y Parlin, and carry back that iron, I shall have to go and tell father."

"Then you'll be a tell-tale, Mr. Seth."

"Do you think I'll have my little brother grow up a thief?"

"I wasn't a thief; but you're a tell-tale. You said, yesterday, little boys mustn't tattle, and I guess big boys mustn't tattle, neither,"

chuckled the aggravating w.i.l.l.y, dragging his basket of iron into the kitchen.

"Mother," said Seth, as Mrs. Parlin pa.s.sed through the shed with a pan of sour milk, "there's got to be something done with w.i.l.l.y; he has taken to stealing."

Mrs. Parlin set the pan upon a bench, and sank down on the meat-block, too weak to stand.

"I caught him just now, mother, lugging off a great basket full of old iron; and if you don't go right in and stop him, he'll take it up to the store to sell."

"Is that all?" exclaimed Mrs. Parlin, drawing a deep breath. "Why, how you frightened me! His father gave him leave to collect what old iron he could find, and sell it to make up for the medal he lost the other day."

"Well there, mother, I'm glad to hear it--that's a fact! But why didn't the little rogue tell me? I declare, he deserves a good whipping for imposing upon me so."

"He ought to have told you; but perhaps you spoke harshly to him, my son. You know w.i.l.l.y can't bear that."

"I don't think I was very harsh, mother. You wouldn't have me see the child doing wrong, and not correct him--would you?"

"His father and I are the ones to correct him," replied Mrs. Parlin.

"w.i.l.l.y has too many masters and mistresses. Next time you see him doing what you think is wrong, let me know it, but don't scold him!"

Mrs. Parlin had said this before, but it was something Seth never could remember.

w.i.l.l.y sold the iron, returned a bright new quarter to Miss Judkins, and felt happy again, especially as there were ten cents left, which his father kindly allowed him to keep.

Gideon Noonin never confessed his crime, and after this w.i.l.l.y was very careful to keep away from him. But there was another boy, nearer his own age, who had quite as bad an influence over him--Fred Chase. He afterwards became a worthless young man, and made his mother so wretched that Siller Noonin said, "Poor Mrs. Chase, she has everything heart can wish, except a bottle to put her tears in."

Fred was a well-mannered, pretty little fellow, and no one thought ill of him, because he was so sly with his mischief. He did harm to w.i.l.l.y by making him think he had a very hard time. His work was to bring in a bushel basket of chips every morning, and fill the "fore-room"

wood-box. Of course the "back-log" and "back-stick," and "fore-stick"

were all too heavy for his little arms, and Caleb attended to those.

Freddy had nothing whatever to do, and pretended to pity w.i.l.l.y.