e
and asked him if he had settled with Newton about the seat, it was all
poor Ted could do not to burst into tears. He was running past his
mother into the house, with a hasty "Yes, thank you, mother, I'll tell
you about it afterwards," for he had not yet made up his mind what he
should say or do; it was his own fault, and he must suffer for it, that
was his first idea, but his mother stopped him. The momentary glance at
his face had been sufficient to show her that something was the matter.

"What is it, Ted, dear?" she said kindly and anxiously.

Ted's answer was a question, and a very queer question.

"Mother," he said, "how much do pies cost?"

"Pies," repeated his mother, "what kind of pies do you mean? Big ones,
little ones, meat ones, or what?"

"Big ones, mother, at least _a_ big one, and all made of meat, with
crust at the top. And oh!" he exclaimed, "there was the dish! I daresay
that cost a good deal," and his face grew sadder and sadder.

But his mother told him he really must explain, and so he did. "I didn't
mean to tell you about it, mother," he said, "for it was my own fault,
and telling you seems almost like asking for the money," and here poor
Ted's face grew red again. "I thought the only thing to do was to take
the _act_ money, the two shillings and sevenpence, you know, mother, and
give it to Jamie's mother, and just give up having the seat," and here
Ted's repressed feelings were too much for him. He turned away his face
and fairly burst into tears. Give up the seat! Think of all that meant
to him, poor boy. The pleasure for Cissy as well as his own, the
delightful surprise to Percy, the rows of stick-sticks for his uncle. I
don't think it was wonderful that Ted burst into tears.

"My poor boy," said his mother, and then she thought it over to herself
for a little. She did not begin talking to Ted about how careless he had
been, and that it must be a lesson to him, and so on, as many even very
kind mothers are sometimes tempted to do, when, as _does_ happen now and
then in this rather contrary world, very small wrongdoings have very big
results,--she could not feel that Ted had been much to blame, and she
was quite sure it _would_ be "a lesson to him," without her saying any
more about it. So she just thought it over quietly, and then said,

"No, Ted. I don't quite think that would be right. Your giving
up the seat would be punishing others as well as yourself--Cissy
particularly--and that