Mr. Dingle was not looking toward Helen. He was busy grinding coffee in another part of the store.

How pretty the bright red cranberries looked! Helen wished she had some.

Her little hand crept over the edge of the barrel, and very quickly seven bright shining cranberries were in Helen’s pocket.

“What can I get for you, little girl?” asked the storekeeper.

“A pound of butter, please,” Helen answered. She did not look him in the eye; instead, she looked out of the window.

It took Helen but a short time to reach home.

[33]

She laid the butter on the table and put the seven cranberries in a cup.

“Aren’t they pretty!” she whispered. “I think I’ll play they are marbles.”

She found a piece of chalk and drew a circle on the floor. Then she began the game.

“What pretty bright cranberries!” exclaimed her mother coming into the room. “Where did you get them, dear?”

How Helen wished that her mother had not asked that question.

“Did Mr. Dingle give them to you?” her mother asked.

How Helen wished she could say yes! “But after all,” she thought, “that was not stealing, so I’ll just tell mother. She knows I would not steal.”

“No, mother,” she answered, shaking her head. “I took them out of the barrel.”

“You did!” exclaimed her mother. “Why, my dear, did you not know that was wrong?”

“I didn’t take many—only seven,” Helen said; “and Mr. Dingle had thousands and thousands of them!”

“Come here, dear, and sit on my knee,” said her mother. “I want to ask you something.”

When Helen came she asked, “When you took[34] the cranberries, was Mr. Dingle looking toward you?”

“No, he was busy,” answered Helen.

“Would you have taken them if he had been looking at you?&rdquo............