"This
coat was left as a blind, a bluff, to cover the tracks of a crime.
Gladys, Gladys, think--_think_!"
But poor Gladys, in her deep mourning gown, all her splendid beauty
beclouded by grief, sadly shook her head, unconvinced. The child had
possibly found the stone, she argued.
"Would he not have shared his joy with every creature in the household?"
demanded Lillian. "Did he ever have a thought that I did not know?"
"It might have been given to him," Gladys sadly persisted.
"Remember his disposition, Gladys, his grateful little heart. He would
have worn us all out, showing the gift and celebrating the generosity of
the giver. How flattered he was, always, to be considered! He never
seemed in the least to care for the value of the thing. He would cherish
an empty spool from a friend's hand. It was wonderful how he loved to be
loved. I feel sure, I _know_, that coat was taken from him; and he is
alive, _stolen_."
And from this conviction she would not depart. It was a folly, a frenzy,
her two friends contended.
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