He was a fleshy, jolly man.
"Now, sir," said he, "let's strike a bargain--I'll give you these six
whole sticks of candy for your supper, and you tell me what you did
with Grandpa's coat."
"I--didn't do--any"--Willy commenced between his painful sobs, but his
grandmother interrupted--"Hush! don't you ever say that again," said
she. "You did do something with it."
"I'll throw in a handful of raisins," said Mr. Perry. But it was of no
use.
"Well, if the little chap was mine," said Mrs. Perry finally, "I
should give him his supper and put him to bed, and see how he would
look at it in the morning."
"I think that would be the best way," chimed in aunt Annie eagerly.
"He's all tired out and hungry, and doesn't know what he does know--do
you, dear?"
So she poured out some milk, and cut off a big slice of cake, but
Willy did not want any supper. It was hard work to induce him to
swallow a little milk before he went upstairs. His grandmother heaved
a desperate sigh after he was gone.
"If it was in the days of the Salem witches," said she, "I'd know just
what to think; as 'tis, I don't."
"That boy was never known to tell a lie before in his whole life--his
mother said so. He never pestered her the way some children do, lyin';
an' as for stealin'--why, I'd trusted him with every cent I've got in
the world.
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