She had dressed herself, and was just taking up her bonnet, as the door of her room opened, and Andrew came in, looking pale and distressed.

Across his forehead was a deep, red mark, the scar left by the wound he received, when he fell on the pavement, in the attempt to escape from the watchman.
"My son!" exclaimed Mrs.Howland, in a voice that thrilled the poor boy's heart--for it was full of sympathy and tenderness--and then she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
Overcome by this reception, Andrew wept aloud.

As soon as he could speak, he said-- "Indeed, indeed, mother! I am innocent.

You wouldn't let me in last night, and I was going to sleep in the building, when the watchman came and said I meant to set it on fire! I'm bad enough, mother, but not so wicked as that! Why should I set a house on fire ?" "I didn't believe it for a moment, Andrew," replied Mrs.Howland.
"But, oh! isn't it dreadful ?" "I'm not to blame, mother," said the weeping boy.

"I didn't mean to stay out later than ten.