ased to have you get the ring,"
said Matilda, in an injured tone; for she fancied Comfort meant to
complain of her to her mother.

Then Comfort turned on Matilda in an agony of confession. "My mother
don't know anything about it," said she. "I took the ring unbeknownst
to her when she said I couldn't, and then I lost it, and I was going
to get the new ring to put in the box so she wouldn't ever know. I'm
going right home and tell her."

Matilda looked at her. "Comfort Pease, didn't you ask your mother?"
said she.

Comfort shook her head.

"Then," said Matilda, solemnly, "we'd better go home just as quick as
we can. We won't wait for any stage-coach--I know my mother wouldn't
want me to. S'pose your mother should die, or anything, before you
have a chance to tell her, Comfort Pease! I read a story once about a
little girl that told a lie, and her mother died, and she hadn't
owned up. It was dreadful. Now you get right on the sled, and I'll
drag you as far as the meeting-house, and then you can drag me as far
as the saw-mill."

Comfort huddled herself up on the sled in a miserable little bunch,
and Matilda dragged her. Her very back looked censorious to Comfort,
but finally she turned around.

"The big girls were real mean, so there; and they pestered you
dreadfully," said she. "Don't you cry any more, Comfort. Just you
tell your mother all about it, and I don't believe she'll scold much.
You can have this gold dollar to buy you another ring, anyway, if
she'll let you."

The road home from Bolton seemed much longer than the road there had
done, although the little girls hurried, and dragged each other with
fierce jerks. "Now," said Matilda, when they reached her house at
length, "I'll go home with you while you tell your mother, if you
want me to, Comfort. My mother's got home--I can see her head in the
window. I'll run and ask her."

"I'd just as lief go alone, I guess," replied Comfort, who was not
crying any more, but was quite pale. "I'm real obliged to you,
Matilda."

"Well, I'd just as lief go as not, if you wanted me to," said
Matilda. "I hope your mother won't say much. Good-by, Comfort."

"Good-by," returned Comfort.

Then Matilda went into her house, and Comfort hurried home alone down
the snowy road in the deepening dusk. She kept thinking of that
dreadful story which Matilda had read. She was panting for breath.
Anxiety and remorse and the journey to Bolton had almost exhausted
poor little Com