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?”

helen hung her head.

“i do not think you would, dear,” said her mother. “of course, you did not think for a moment of stealing from mr. dingle.”

“i will never do such a thing again, mother,” promised the little girl. “i am sorry.”

“are you sorry enough to take those berries back, and tell mr. dingle what you did?” asked her mother.

that was quite different from being sorry in their own kitchen.

“oh, mother, i don’t want to do that!” said helen, tears coming into her eyes.

“that is because you are ashamed, helen,” said her mother; “but i hope you will always be brave enough to do the right thing.”

“will you go with me to the store, mother?” asked helen.

“no,” said her mother, “i want you to go by yourself. but i can help you this much: i can telephone mr. dingle that you are coming.”

helen sighed. “i wish i had been, and was[35] back again,” she said, picking up the pretty berries.

“well, well!” said mr. dingle, when helen handed him the berries, “it takes a pretty brave girl to own up. if you were a boy, little girl, i would ask you to come and work for me this next vacation.”

questions

why do you think helen felt so uncomfortable when she was asking for the butter, and later when her mother asked her where she got the cranberries?

do you suppose mr. dingle would ever have known about the seven cranberries?

but who would always have known?

why was it that helen did not think taking the cranberries was really “stealing”?

what did helen’s mother think about it?

what do you think about taking even the smallest thing that doesn’t belong to you?

we sow a thought and reap an act;

we sow an act and reap a habit;

we sow a habit and reap a character;

we sow a character and reap a destiny.

—thackeray.