Chapter 3

"Walk to Bolton? You couldn't."

"It's only three miles, and we'd drag each other on my sled."

Imogen frowned over a wrong pucker in the crimson tibet, and did not appreciate the absurdity of the last. "I do wish you wouldn't bother me, Matilda," said she. "If I don't get this dress done I can't go to the party to-night. I don't know what mother would say to your going to Bolton any such way."

"It wouldn't hurt us a mite. Do let us go, Imogen."

"Well, I'll tell you what you can do," said Imogen. "You can walk over there--I guess it won't hurt you to walk one way--and then you can ride home in the stage-coach; it comes over about half-past four. I'll give you some money."

"Oh, that's beautiful! Thank you, Imogen," cried Matilda, gratefully.

"Well, run along and don't say another word to me," said Imogen, scowling over the crimson tibet. "Wrap up warm."

When they started, Matilda insisted upon dragging Comfort first in the sled. "I'll drag you as far as Dr. Hutchins's," said she. "Then you get off and drag me as far as the meeting-house. I guess that's about even."

It was arduous, and it is probable that the little girls were much longer reaching Bolton than they would have been had they traveled on their two sets of feet all the way; but they persuaded themselves otherwise.

"We can't be--a mite--tired," panted Matilda, as she tugged Comfort over the last stretch, "for we each of us rode half the way, and a mile and a half ain't anything. You walk that every day to school and back."

"Yes, I do," assented Comfort. She could not believe that she was tired, either, although every muscle in her body ached.

Bolton was a large town, and the people from all the neighboring villages went there to do their trading and shopping. There was a wide main street, with stores on each side; and that day it was full of sleighs and pungs and wood-sleds, and there were so many people that Comfort felt frightened. She had never been to Bolton without her father or mother. "Just look at all the folks," said she. And she had an uncomfortable feeling that they all stared at her suspiciously, although she did not see how they could know about the ring. But Matilda was bolder. "It's such a pleasant day that they're all out trading," said she. "Guess it'll storm to-morrow. Now we want to go to Gerrish's. I went there once with mother and Imogen to buy a silver spoon for Cousin Hannah Green when she got married."

Comfort, trailing the sled behind her, started timidly after Matilda.

Gerrish's was a small store, but there was a large window full of watches and chains and clocks, and a man with spectacles sat behind it mending watches.

The two little girls went in and stood at the counter, and a thin man with gray whiskers, who was Mr. Gerrish himself, came forward to wait upon them. Matilda nudged Comfort.

"You ask him--it's your ring," she whispered.

But Comfort shook her head. She was almost ready to cry. "You'd ought to when I'm giving you the dollar," whispered Matilda, with another nudge. Mr. Gerrish stood waiting, and he frowned a little; he was a nervous man. "Ask him," whispered Matilda, fiercely.

Suddenly Comfort Pease turned herself about and ran out of Gerrish's, with a great wail of inarticulate words about not wanting any ring. The door banged violently after her. Matilda Stebbins looked after her in a bewildered way; then she looked up at Mr. Gerrish, who was frowning harder. "If you girls don't want anything, you'd better stay out of doors with your sled," said he. And Matilda trembled and gathered up the sled-rope, and the door banged after her. Then Mr. Gerrish said something to the man mending watches in the window, and went back to his desk in the rear of the store.

Matilda could just see Comfort running down the street toward home, and she ran after her. She could run faster than Comfort. As she got nearer she could see people turning and looking curiously after Comfort, and when she came up to her she saw she was crying. "Why, you great baby, Comfort Pease," said she, "going along the road crying!"

Comfort sobbed harder, and people stared more and more curiously. Finally one stout woman in a black velvet bonnet stopped. "I hope you haven't done anything to hurt this other little girl?" she said, suspiciously, to Matilda.

"No, ma'am, I ain't," replied Matilda.

"What's the matter, child?" said the woman in the black velvet bonnet to Comfort. And Comfort choked out something about losing her ring.

"Where did you lose it?" asked the woman.

"I don't k--n--o--w," sobbed Comfort.

"Well, you'd better go right home and tell your mother about it," said the stout woman, and went her way with many backward glances.

Matilda dragged her sled to Comfort's side and eyed her dubiously.

"Why didn't you get the ring when we were right there with the gold dollar?" she demanded. "What made you run out of Gerrish's that way?"

"I'm--go--ing--home," sobbed Comfort.

"Ain't you going to wait and ride in the stage coach?"

"I'm--going--right--home."

"Imogen said to go in the stage-coach. I don't know as mother'll like it if we walk. Why didn't you get the ring, Comfort Pease?"

"I don't want--any--ring. I'm going home--to--tell--my mother."

"Your mother would have been real pleased 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 Comfort Pease. She hurried as fast as she could, but her feet felt like lead, and it seemed to her that she should never reach home. But when at last she came in sight of the lighted kitchen windows her heart gave a joyful leap, for she saw her mother's figure moving behind them, and knew that Matilda's story was not true in her case.

When she reached the door she leaned against it a minute. She was so out of breath, and her knees seemed failing under her. Then she opened the door and went in.

Her father and mother and grandmother were all in there, and they turned round and stared at her.

"Comfort Pease," cried her mother, "what is the matter?"

"You didn't fall down, or anythin', did you?" asked her grandmother.

Then Comfort burst out with a great sob of confession. "I--took--it," she gasped. "I took my gold ring that Aunt Comfort gave me for her name--and--I wore it to school, and Miss Tabitha pinned it in my pocket, and I lost it. And Matilda she gave me the gold dollar her Uncle Jared gave her to buy me another, and we walked a mile and a half apiece to Bolton, to buy it in Gerrish's, and I couldn't; and I was afraid something had happened to mother; and I'm sorry." Then Comfort sobbed until her very sobs seemed failing her.

Her father wiped his eyes. "Don't let that child cry that way, Em'ly," said he to Mrs. Pease. Then he turned to Comfort. "Don't you feel so bad, Comfort," he coaxed. "Father'll get you some peppermints when he goes down to the store to-night." Comfort's father gave her a hard pat on her head; then he went out of the room with something that sounded like an echo of Comfort's own sobs.

"Comfort," said Mrs. Pease, "look here, child. Stop crying, and listen to what I've got to say. I want you to come into the parlor with me a minute."

Comfort followed her mother weakly into the best parlor. There on the table stood the rosewood work-box, and her mother went straight across to it and opened it.

"Look here, Comfort," said she; and Comfort looked. There in its own little compartment lay the ring. "Miss Tabitha Hanks found it in the road, and she thought you had taken it unbeknownst to me, and so she brought it here," explained her mother. "I didn't let you know because I wanted to see if you would be a good girl enough to tell me of your own accord, and I'm glad you have, Comfort."

Then Comfort's mother carried her almost bodily back to the warm kitchen and sat her before the fire to toast her feet, while she made some cream-toast for her supper.

Her grandmother had a peppermint in her pocket, and she slid it into Comfort's hand. "Grandma knew she would tell, and she won't never do such a thing again, will she?" said she.

"No, ma'am," replied Comfort. And the peppermint in her mouth seemed to be the very flavor of peace and forgiveness.

After Comfort was in bed and asleep that night her elders talked the matter over. "I knew she would tell finally," said Mrs. Pease; "but it's been a hard lesson for her, poor child, and she's all worn out--that long tramp to Bolton, too"

"I 'most wish her Aunt Comfort hadn't been so dreadful careful about getting her a ring big enough," said Grandmother Atkins.

Mr. Pease looked at his wife and cleared his throat. "What do you think of my getting her a ring that would fit her finger, Em'ly?" he asked, timidly.

"Now, father, that's all a man knows!" cried Mrs. Pease. "If you went and bought that child a ring now it would look just as if you were paying her for not minding. You'd spoil all the lesson she's got, when she's worked so dreadful hard to learn it. You wait awhile."

"Well, I suppose you know best, Em'ly," said Mr. Pease; but he made a private resolution. And so it happened that three months later, when it was examination day at school, and Comfort had a new blue tibet dress to wear, and some new ribbon to tie her hair, that her mother handed her a little box just before she started.

"Here," said she. "Your father has been over to Gerrish's, and here's something he bought you. I hope you'll be careful and not lose it."

And Comfort opened the box, and there was a beautiful gold ring, which just fitted her third finger; and she wore it to school, and the girls all seemed to see it at once, and exclaimed, "Comfort Pease has got a new gold ring that fits her finger!"

And that was not all, for Matilda and Rosy Stebbins also wore gold rings. "Mother said I might as well spend Uncle Jared's dollar for it, 'cause your mother didn't want you to have it," said Matilda, holding her finger up; "and father bought one for Rosy, too."

Then the two little girls took their seats, and presently went forward to be examined in spelling before the committee-men, the doctor, the minister, and all the visiting friends.

And Comfort Pease, with all the spelling lessons of the term in her head, her gold ring on her finger, and peace in her heart, went to the head of the class, and Miss Tabitha Hanks presented her with a prize. It was a green silk pincushion with "Good Girl" worked on it in red silk, and she had it among her treasures long after her finger had grown large enough to wear her Aunt Comfort's ring.