She threw her arms around Willy, then she held him back and looked at
him. "Why, what is the matter with my precious boy!" she cried.
"O, mamma, mamma, I didn't, I didn't do anything with it!" he sobbed,
and clung to her so frantically that she was alarmed.
"What does he mean, mother?" she asked.
Her mother motioned her to be quiet. "Oh! it isn't anything," said
she. "You'd better give him his supper, and get him to bed; he's all
tired out. I'll tell you by and by," she motioned with her lips.
So Willy's mother soothed him all she could. "Of course you didn't,
dear," said she. "Mamma knows you didn't. Don't you worry any more
about it."
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.
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