All the premises were searched for the missing coat, but no trace of it was found.  The mystery thickened and deepened.  How could a boy lose a coat going across a road in broad daylight?  Why would he not confess that he had lost it?

Finally it was decided to take him home.  He was becoming all worn out with excitement and distress.  He was too delicate a child to long endure such a strain.  They thought that once at home his mother might be able to do what none of the rest had.

All the others were getting worn out also.  A good many tears had been shed by the older members of the company.  Poor Mrs. Perry took much blame to herself for giving the coat to the boy, and so opening the way for the difficulty.

“Mr. Perry says he thinks I ought not to have given the coat to him, he’s nothing but a child, any way,” she said tearfully once.

It was Monday afternoon when Willy was shut up in his room, and all the others were talking the matter over downstairs.

Tears stood in aunt Annie’s blue eyes.  “He’s nothing but a baby,” said she, “and if I had my way I’d call him downstairs and give him a cookie and never speak of the old coat again.”

“You talk very silly, Annie,” said Grandmother Stockton.  “I hope you don’t want to have the child to grow up a wicked, deceitful man.”

Willy’s grandparents gave up going to the silver wedding.  Grandpa had no good coat to wear, and indeed neither of them had any heart to go.

So the morning of the wedding-day they started sadly to return to Ashbury.  Willy’s face looked thin and tear-stained.  Somebody had packed his little bag for him, but he forgot his little cane.

When he was seated in the cars beside his grandmother, he began to cry.  She looked at him a moment, then she put her arm around him, and drew his head down on her black cashmere shoulder.

“Tell Grandma, can’t you,” she whispered, “what you did with Grandpa’s coat?”

“I didn’t—­do—­any”—­

“Hush,” said she, “don’t you say that again, Willy!” But she kept her arm around him.

Willy’s mother came running to the door to meet them when they arrived.  She had heard nothing of the trouble.  She had only had a hurried message that they were coming to-day.

She threw her arms around Willy, then she held him back and looked at him.  “Why, what is the matter with my precious boy!” she cried.

“O, mamma, mamma, I didn’t, I didn’t do anything with it!” he sobbed, and clung to her so frantically that she was alarmed.

“What does he mean, mother?” she asked.

Her mother motioned her to be quiet.  “Oh! it isn’t anything,” said she.  “You’d better give him his supper, and get him to bed; he’s all tired out.  I’ll tell you by and by,” she motioned with her lips.

So Willy’s mother soothed him all she could.  “Of course you didn’t, dear,” said she.  “Mamma knows you didn’t.  Don’t you worry any more about it.”