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." That was Grandpa Stockton.

During the next two or three days every inducement was brought to bear
upon Willy. He was scolded and coaxed, he was promised a reward if he
would tell the truth, he was assured that he should not be punished.
Monday he was kept in his room all day, and was given nothing but
bread and milk to eat. Severer measures were hinted at, but Grandpa
Stockton put his foot down peremptorily. "That boy has never been
whipped in his whole life," said he, "an' his own folks have got to
begin it, if anybody does."

All the premises were searched for the missing coat, but no trace of
it was found. The mystery thickened and deepened. How could a boy lose
a coat going across a road in broad daylight? Why would he not confess
that he had lost it?

Finally it was decided to take him home. He was becoming all worn out