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That was Mrs. Perry’s testimony. Willy heard in the presence of all the family; then when the question as to the whereabouts of the coat was put to him, he made the same answer. He also repeated that Grandma Perry had not given it to him.

“Don’t you let me hear you tell that wicked lie again,” said his Grandma Stockton. She was nearly as much agitated as the boy. She did not know what to do, and nobody else did.

Grandpa Perry came over with three sticks of twisted red and white peppermint candy, and three of barley. He caught hold of Willy and swung him on to his knee. He was a fleshy, jolly man.

“Now, sir,” said he, “let’s strike a bargain–I’ll give you these six whole sticks of candy for your supper, and you tell me what you did with Grandpa’s coat.”

“I–didn’t do–any”–Willy commenced between his painful sobs, but his grandmother interrupted–“Hush! don’t you ever say that again,” said she. “You did do something with it.”

“I’ll throw in a handful of raisins,” said Mr. Perry. But it was of no use.

“Well, if the little chap was mine,” said Mrs. Perry finally, “I should give him his supper and put him to bed, and see how he would look at it in the morning.”

“I think that would be the best way,” chimed in aunt Annie eagerly. “He’s all tired out and hungry, and doesn’t know what he does know–do you, dear?”

So she poured out some milk, and cut off a big slice of cake, but Willy did not want any supper. It was hard work to induce him to swallow a little milk before he went upstairs. His grandmother heaved a desperate sigh after he was gone.

“If it was in the days of the Salem witches,” said she, “I’d know just what to think; as ’tis, I don’t.”

“That boy was never known to tell a lie before in his whole life–his mother said so. He never pestered her the way some children do, lyin’; an’ as for stealin’–why, I’d trusted him with every cent I’ve got in the world.” That was Grandpa Stockton.

During the next two or three days every inducement was brought to bear upon Willy. He was scolded and coaxed, he was promised a reward if he would tell the truth, he was assured that he should not be punished. Monday he was kept in his room all day, and was given nothing but bread and milk to eat. Severer measures were hinted at, but Grandpa Stockton put his foot down peremptorily. “That boy has never been whipped in his whole life,” said he, “an’ his own folks have got to begin it, if anybody does.”

All the premises were searched for the missing coat, but no trace of it was found. The mystery thickened and deepened. How could a boy lose a coat going across a road in broad daylight? Why would he not confess that he had lost it?

Finally it was decided to take him home. He was becoming all worn out with excitement and distress. He was too delicate a child to long endure such a strain. They thought that once at home his mother might be able to do what none of the rest had.

All the others were getting worn out also. A good many tears had been shed by the older members of the company. Poor Mrs. Perry took much blame to herself for giving the coat to the boy, and so opening the way for the difficulty.

“Mr. Perry says he thinks I ought not to have given the coat to him, he’s nothing but a child, any way,” she said tearfully once.

It was Monday afternoon when Willy was shut up in his room, and all the others were talking the matter over downstairs.

Tears stood in aunt Annie’s blue eyes. “He’s nothing but a baby,” said she, “and if I had my way I’d call him downstairs and give him a cookie and never speak of the old coat again.”