He knew something was up about them--that trouble was ahead.
"I was down to the water," Benjamin replied, with as much coolness as
he could muster.
"What were you doing there?"
"Fixing up a place for the boat." He suspected, from his father's
appearance, that he would have to tell the whole story.
"Benjamin, see that you tell me the truth, and withhold nothing. I
wish to know exactly what you did there."
"We built a wharf."
"What did you build it with?"
"We built it of stones."
"Where did you get your stones?"
"There was a pile of them close by."
"Did they belong to you?"
"No, sir."
"Then you stole them, did you?"
"It isn't stealing to take stones."
"Why, then, did you take them in the evening, after the workmen had
gone home? Why did you not go after them when the workmen were all
there? It looks very much as if you thought taking them was stealing
them."
Benjamin saw that he was fairly cornered. Such a catechetical exercise
was somewhat new to him. The Westminster Assembly's Catechism never
put him into so tight a place as that. Bright as he was, he could not
discover the smallest hole out of which to crawl. It was a bad scrape,
and he could see no way out of it except by telling the truth. We
dislike very much to say it, but, judging from all the circumstances,
he would have told a lie, could he have seen a place to put one in.
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