Do happy middle-aged philosophers assure us that children are light-hearted and unfeeling animals?
Let them realise something of the agony which Jeremy suffered that day.

His whole world had gone.
He was wicked, an outcast; his word could never be trusted again; he would be pointed at, as the boy who had told a lie...

And he would not meet Dick Whittington.
The eternity of his punishment hung around his neck like an iron chain.
Childhood's tragedies are terrible tragedies, because a child has no sense of time; a moment's dismay is eternal; a careless word from an elder is a lasting judgment; an instant's folly is a lifetime's mistake.
The day dragged its weary length along, and he scarcely moved from his corner by the fire.

He did not attempt conversation with anyone.

Once or twice the Jampot tried to penetrate behind that little mask of anger and dismay.
"Come, now, things aren't so bad as all that.