"What is it, my boy?"
He brushed them away hastily.
"Father," said he, "I've been a sneak; but I _won't_ be a coward. I was
going with the boys last night."
"Ah!"
"Yes. I should have gone if it hadn't been for the dog, and the cat,
and--all the rest of them. 'Twasn't any goodness of mine that kept me at
home."
His father was silent.
"I wish you'd say something, father," cried poor Bert, impatiently. "I
s'pose you don't think I'm worth flogging; but"--
"My dear boy," said his father, "I knew your footsteps in the shed last
night. I knew perfectly well who was hidden in the old closet."
"Why didn't you say so?" inquired astonished Bert, tremblingly.
"Because I preferred to let you go. I thought, if my boy wanted to
deceive me, he should, at least, imagine that he had that pleasure."
"O father!"
"Yes, you should have gone, Bert. Very likely I might have gone with
you; but you would not have known it."
Bert hadn't a word to say.
"I pitied you, too. I knew that, after the fun was over, there must come
the settling with your conscience. I was sure you had a conscience,
Bert."
The boy tried to speak, but no words came.
"I was disappointed in you, Bert. I was very much disappointed in you."
Down went Bert's head into his hands.
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