ng later.

He did not dare to look back at his playmates. It was already a public
scandal that he could not stay out as late as other boys, and he could
imagine his standing now that he had been again dragged off by his
mother in sight of the whole world. He was a profoundly miserable
human being.

Aunt Martha opened the door for them. Light streamed about her
straight skirt. "Oh," she said, "so you found him on the road, eh?
Well, I declare! It was about time!"

Horace slunk into the kitchen. The stove, straddling out on its four
iron legs, was gently humming. Aunt Martha had evidently just lighted
the lamp, for she went to it and began to twist the wick
experimentally.

[Illustration: "Let's See Them Mittens."]

"Now," said the mother, "let's see them mittens."

Horace's chin sank. The aspiration of the criminal, the passionate
desire for an asylum from retribution, from justice, was aflame in his
heart. "I--I--don't--don't know where they are." he gasped finally, as
he passed his hand over his pockets.

"Horace," intoned his mother, "you are tellin' me a story!"

"'Tain't a story," he answered, just above his breath. He looked like
a sheep-stealer.

His mother held him by the arm, and began to search his pockets.
Almost at once she was able to bring forth a pair of very wet mittens.
"Well, I declare!" cried Aunt Martha. The two women went close to the
lamp, and minutely examined the mittens, turning them over and over.
Afterwards, when Horace looked up, his mother's sad-lined, homely face
was turned towards him. He burst into tears.

His mother drew a chair near the stove. "Just you sit there now, until
I tell you to git off." He sidled meekly into the chair. His mother
and his aunt went briskly about the business of preparing supper. They
did not display a knowledge of his existence; they carried an effect
of oblivion so far that they even did not speak to each other.
Presently they went into the dining and living room; Horace could hear
the dishes rattling. His Aunt Martha brought a plate of food, placed
it on a chair near him, and went away without a word.

[Illustration: "Brought a Plate of Food"]

Horace instantly decided that he would not touch a morsel of the food.
He had often used this ruse in dealing with his mother. He did not
know why it brought her to terms, but certainly it sometimes did.

The mother looked up when the aunt returned to the other room. "Is he
eatin' his supper?" she aske