d he tried once or twice before the words would come. At last--"I beg
your pardon!" he said. "I am only a little boy, and perhaps there is
something I don't understand; but--but--I don't think you ought to have
done that!"

"Done what, son of mine?" asked the Skipper, gazing down at him with the
bright, kind eyes that he loved, and that would not be kind the next
moment, perhaps. "What is it I have done?"

"To take the papers!" said John; and now his voice was steady, and he
knew quite well what he must say, if only his heart would not beat so
loud in his ears! "I don't think it was right; but perhaps you know
things that make it right for you. But--but Mr. Scraper left me here, to
take care of the house, and--and I shall have to tell him that you went
into the parlour and took things out of the cupboard."

There was silence for a moment,--silence, all but the throbbing that
seemed as if it must deafen the child, as it was choking him. He stood
looking at the ground, his face in a flame, his eyes full of hot,
smarting tears. Was it he who had stolen the papers? Surely anyone would
have thought so who saw his anguish of confusion. And the Skipper did
not speak! And this was his friend, the first heart-friend the child had
ever had, perhaps the only one that would ever come to him, and he was
affronting him, casting him off, accusing him of vileness! Unable to
bear the pain any longer, the child looked up at last, and as he did so,
the tears overflowed and ran down his round cheeks. The dark eyes were
as kind as ever. They were smiling, oh, so tenderly! John hid his face
on his blue sleeve, and sobbed to his heart's content; somehow, without
a word, the dreadful pain was gone, and the blessed feeling had returned
that this friend knew all about things, and understood little boys, and
liked them.

The Skipper did not speak for a moment, only stood and stroked the boy's
curly hair with a light, soft touch, almost as his mother used to stroke
it. Then he said, in his deep, grave voice, that was sweeter than music,
John thought.

"Colorado! my little son, my friend!" That was enough for a few minutes,
till the sobs were quieted, and only the little breast heaved and sank,
tremulously, like the breast of a frightened bird. Then the Skipper led
him to a rustic bench, and sat down beside him, and took his hand.

"And that hurt you to say, my little son?" he said, smiling. "That hurt
you, because you thought it would vex th