was fortunate then, or he
would have cried for her. He saw his father only once a month; he was
making money very fast in the dingy little office away down town in New
York, and spending it almost as fast in a house away up town for
Johnny's new mamma, and, with Plowfield so far away, it was no wonder
Johnny's father was always on the move. He ought to have been there
that very day; the heavy snow perhaps had prevented; that was one
reason why Johnny had been so naughty.

He sat quite still after he was brought back. He was too indignant to
cry; he felt as if there was no such thing as justice or generosity in
grandmothers.

After a while he felt that he had thought of something that would do
justice to his feelings.

"Drandma," he cried, "I wish I'd smashed the bowl to-day when I spilt
the cream!"

Grandma didn't say anything for fear Johnny would know she was
laughing.

He grew more and more indignant; he never in his life had felt so
naughty. He thought of all the rebellious things he had ever heard of,
and making a few choice selections, mentioned them to his grandmother,
and she, laughing, stored them away, to tell grandpa, consoling herself
with the idea that if he was bad he wasn't stupid.

Suddenly, among other brilliant ideas, came the thought that sometimes
boys ran away; Mike's boy Jerry ran away (Mike was the man who worked
for grandpa), and he didn't have any money, and Johnny had fifteen
cents; besides, when he got on the cars he could tell the conductor to
charge it to his father; of course, he knew his father; he came from
New York every month.

He listened till he heard grandma go to the shed for wood, and before
she came back her small grandson was some distance from the house in
the deep snow, putting on his coat and tying his comforter over his
ears.

As he looked back and saw the shadow of grandma as she put down the
wood, he said: "I guess I'll make _her_ cry pretty soon."

After the wood, grandma seemed to find quite a number of things either
to take up or put down, so for a little while Johnny was forgotten. Did
you ever notice that grandmothers, and mothers too, are always begging
for a little quiet, yet, if they ever get a bit, nothing seems to make
them more uneasy?

Grandma thought Johnny was unusually still--she thought, "and is asleep
on the lounge." So she was not alarmed when she saw the little empty
chair, but when no Johnny appeared on the lounge or anywhere in the
room,