Page:Arthur Stringer-The Loom of Destiny.djvu/112

The Loom of Destiny it open and walked courageously in. The cook was sleeping soundly. He shook her arm. She did not move. He shook it again, this time desperately. With a startled cry the cook opened her eyes, and sat up in bed.

"Why, Masther Russell, what is it?" she cried, peering through the dim light that came in at the window. She could see that the boy's face was as white as his nightgown. As he did not answer she asked him again. There was a note of kindliness in her voice at the second query, for she also saw that he was shivering, and his face was drawn and tear-stained.

Twice he tried to speak and could not. The choking lump in his throat seemed to keep back the words. When the sound did break out, it came in a sort of sobbing scream. And the sound of that voice was not like the sound of the voice of Russell Wentworth Russell, though it came from his own throat.

"Cook, I—I—stole the chocolate!" 100