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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.”