She propelled the little boy out of the immediate neighborhood of the calamity; she forced a wicked, deceitful smile (alas! guile comes easy to her sex) and pointed out things to him, whispering, "Look pleasant! Don't be so scared! They'll never know we did it." Already she was shouldering her share in crime, with a woman's willingness; she said "we" quite unconsciously; but she added (and this was of direct volition): "I did it more'n you; you were just trying to keep the nasty thing straight; I was a heap more to blame. Anyhow, I guess it ain't so awful bad. Just those wooden things." Johnny-Ivan shook a tragic head; even his lips had gone bluish-white. "She said thousands wouldn't repair the damage," moaned he. "You can't make me believe those mean little wooden tricks are worth any thousand dollars!" volleyed Peggy; nevertheless, her heart beat faster,--grown people are so queer. "Are you sure she meant _them_? Maybe it was those things in the next glass case; they're her own things! They're some kind of Chinese china and cost a heap." Peggy's sturdy womanly wits were rising from the shock. "And the show-case is broked!" sniffed Johnny-Ivan, gulping down a sob. "It ain't broke, it's only cracked; 'sides, it was cracked a right smart befo'!" "But this was a new place--I know, 'cause I cut my finger on the other, scraping it over." "Well, anyhow, I reckon it didn't be much value," Peggy insisted. "I saw that young lady come back,"--Johnny-Ivan had switched on to a new track leading to grisly possibilities--"maybe _she'll_ find it!" "Well, we're gone, all right." Peggy gave an unprincipled giggle; "Maybe she'll think it was _him_." "Then we _got_ to tell," moaned Johnny. "No, we ain't. He'll run off and so she won't ask him questions." "But she'll _think_ it's him. It'll be mean." "No it won't." "It's mean to have somebody else take your blame or your punishment; mamma said so." The small casuist was too discreet to attack Johnny's oracle; she only pouted her pretty lips and quibbled: "'Tain't mean if the people who get blamed are mean themselves--like him. I don't care _how_ blamed he gets; I wouldn't care if he got licked." But Johnny's conscience was not so elastic. "I don't care, either," he protested. "I--I wouldn't care if he was _deaded_"--anxious to propitiate--"but it would be mean just the same. I got to tell papa, Peggy, I truly have." Peggy grew very cross. "You are just the foolest, obsternatest little boy I ever did see," she grumbled; "you're a plumb idiot! I'd like to slap you! Your papa'll be awful mad." Johnny-Ivan essayed an indifferent mien, but his eyes were miserable. "Say, Jo'nivan,"--her voice sank to a whisper that curdled his blood--"were you ever spanked?" "Only Hilma sorter kinder--not really _spanking_, you know," confessed Johnny with a toss of his head. "I just made faces at her; I didn't cry!" he bragged. "Never your mamma or your papa?"