The next day the thimble was purchased, as agreed upon, and little
Willie kept it a profound secret from his mother, until the first
evening on which they found themselves at home, in their little
parlor, when the candle was lit, and the little stand drawn to the
fire, the workbox opened, and the old brass thimble put on. Then
little Willie, glowing with blissful excitement, put his hand in his
pocket to find his present. It was not there. He searched the other
pocket, then his cap, then shook his cloak and looked about the
carpet. Alarmed now, he opened the door and was going out, when his
mother called to him.
"What is the matter, Willie? Where are you going? What have you
lost?"
"Nothing much, mother; I am only going out a minute," and he closed
the door, and began an almost hopeless search by the moonlight for his
lost treasure. Up and down the walk he searched without finding it. He
opened the gate, and peeping and peering about, wandered up the road,
until his little feet and limbs got wet in the soft snow, and his
hands became benumbed; when, feeling convinced that it was lost, he
sat down and burst into a passionate fit of weeping. Let no one feel
surprise or contempt at this.
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