"Never mind, bring it next Sunday," said Miss Beatrice, noticing the
flushed face and telltale eyes, and not understanding quite what it
meant.

If mamma had not been sick, the trouble would surely have come out
earlier, because mamma would have seen in a minute that something was
wrong. After the late dinner, there was nothing to do but cuddle up in
the corner of the sofa with his books. Just as it was growing dark,
papa came down from the sick room. He found Harlis with his head
buried in the sofa cushion.

"What's the matter?" said papa briskly, picking up his little boy.
"Lonesome? Too bad! Thought you went to Aunt Lucy's with Esther."

"I didn't want to," said Harlis, breaking out in big, shaking sobs.

Papa knew something was wrong, then, and by degrees the story came
out.

Papa said very little, for he seemed to understand the real suffering
Harlis had already gone through because of his wrongdoings.

"But the nickel was mine," said Harlis, as he and mamma were talking
it over.

"Was it?" said mamma. "What did I give it to you for?"

"For the poor little girl."