He lay on the floor,
rolling and shrieking.
"I wish you young ones would stop carrying on," said Sarah, "and tell me
what you're carrying on about."
[Illustration]
"Oh, Mamma, can't you see?" said Betsy. "Look up."
Sarah gasped. Marching across the cabin ceiling were the muddy marks of
two bare feet.
"Don't they look like Johnny's feet?" Mathilda asked.
"Johnny Johnston, you come right here," said Sarah sternly.
Johnny picked himself up from the rag rug before the fireplace. He went
over and stood before his mother. His blue eyes danced. This was one
scolding that he looked forward to.
"Now tell me the truth. What do you mean by--"
Sarah paused. She could hardly scold her son for walking on the ceiling.
Johnny had been told exactly what to say. "I got my feet all muddy down
at the horse trough," he explained. "Then I walked on the ceiling."
"You walked on the ceiling? Johnny Johnston, you know it's wicked to
lie."
"I'm not lying. Those are my footprints."
Sarah looked again. The footprints were too small to belong to anyone
but Johnny. She looked at Abe.
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