Then one day Mrs. Rose counted her
silver spoons, and found only twenty-three teaspoons. She stood at her
kitchen table, and counted them over and over. Then she opened the
kitchen door. "Elviry!" she called out, "Elviry, come here a minute!
Look here," she said, in a hushed voice, when Miss Elvira's inquiring
face had appeared at the door. Miss Elvira approached the table
tremblingly.
"Count those spoons," said Mrs. Rose.
Miss Elvira's long slim fingers handled the jingling spoons. "There
ain't but twenty-three," she said finally, in a scared voice.
"I expected it," said Mrs. Rose. "Do you s'pose he took it?"
"Who else took it, I'd like to know?"
It was a beautiful May morning; the apple-trees were all in blossom. The
Dickey boy had stolen over to look at his. It was a round hill of
pink-and-white bloom. It was the apple year. Willy came to the stone
wall and called him. "Dickey," he cried, "Mother wants you;" and Dickey
obeyed. Willy had run on ahead. He found Mrs. Rose, Miss Elvira, Willy,
and the twenty-three teaspoons awaiting him in the kitchen. He shook his
head to every question they asked him about the missing spoon. He turned
quite pale; once in a while he whimpered; the tears streamed down his
cheeks, but he only shook his head in that mute denial.
"It won't make it any easier for you, holding out this way," said Mrs.
Rose, harshly. "Stop cryin' and go out and split up some kindlin'-wood.
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