"If that's the way you are going to act, Smarty, I'll lay all the blame on you; I won't help you a bit, and I don't care if you are whipped until the blood runs." Then I went out of the barn and slammed the door.

For a minute I felt better; but it was a short time.

I SAID that to be mean, but I did care.

I cared dreadfully; I was partly to blame, and I knew it.
Coming around the barn, I met Laddie, and he saw in a flash I was in trouble, so he stopped and asked: "What now, Chicken ?" "Come into the barn where no one will hear us," I said.
So we went around the outside, entered at the door on the embankment, and he sat in the wheelbarrow on the threshing floor while I told him.
I thought I felt badly enough, but after I saw Laddie, it grew worse, for I remembered we were short of money that fall, that the goose was a fine, expensive one, and how proud mother was of her, and how she'd be grieved, and that was trouble for sure.
"Run along and play!" said Laddie, "and don't tell any one else if you can help it.

I'll hide the goose, and see if I can get another in time to take the place of this one, so mother won't be worried." I walked to the house slowly, but I was afraid to enter.