"How nice that today is pleasant, so you can have your May Day exercises outdoors," Mrs. Martin said, as she bustled about getting her children's breakfast on the table.

"Did you finish hemming my dress?" asked Cathy. She was to be crowned May Queen and was so worried about looking exactly right that she could hardly eat her breakfast.

"It's all packed in a suit box," said Mrs. Martin. "I put in Andy's costume under it. Be surer of getting there if you carry it."

"Do I have to wear that silly sash?" Andy was to help wind the Maypole and was to wear yellow cambric shorts, a white blouse, and a yellow sash around his middle.

"You must dress as your teacher told you to," said his mother. "Be careful with that glass of milk, Andy."

Jerry was thankful that his only part in the May Day festival was to help seat the parents. And that all he had to wear different from usual was an armband. Jerry's mind was not on the May Day exercises. He had something far more important to think about. Today was the day he had so long looked forward to. Today he would pay the bill at Bartlett's store. The store wouldn't be open early enough so he could tend to it before school, but the minute he could get away from the May Day exercises that afternoon he would race to Mr. Bullfinch's, get the money from the grandfather clock, and go pay the bill. Thinking of the candy that would then be presented to him made Jerry grin.

"You're looking mighty pleased with yourself this morning, Jerry," said his mother, passing him the bacon.

"Who? Me? It's Cathy who's the big shot today. Hi, Queenie! You feeling squeamy?" he teased his sister. "Won't you look like something—all dressed up like a circus horse, with a tinfoil crown on your head? Yes, your majesty. No, your majesty. After this you'll expect everybody to bow down to you. Not me. I'm not forgetting this is a democracy."

"All I hope is that you won't do anything at the exercises that will disgrace the family," said Cathy.

"Call me a disgrace to the family, do you? Well, I like that."

"There isn't time for you two to squabble. You should be leaving for school in less than five minutes," said Mrs. Martin.

"I won't say a word if Cathy'll leave me alone," said Jerry.

"I leave you alone! Why it was you who started—"

"I don't care who started what. It's finished," said Mrs. Martin with firmness.

Jerry gave Cathy a mocking smile. He was really proud that she had been chosen May Queen. He would never let on to her all the votes he had rounded up for her. Not Jerry. He kept it a dark secret that he thought her the prettiest girl in their class. No need of making her more stuck on her looks than she already was.

Lessons at school were brief that day. By ten-thirty, four boys from the sixth grade were helping the custodian put up the Maypole. Then there were two chairs from the principal's office to be draped with gold-colored cambric, throne chairs for the King and Queen. As soon as lunch period was over, Jerry helped carry chairs from the cafeteria out to the yard, where they were arranged in rows facing the throne. The exercises were to begin at one, but a few parents came before all the chairs were in place.

A phonograph on a table behind a tree furnished music for winding the Maypole. Jerry, standing with his classmates behind the chairs—there were chairs only for the parents—saw that Andy looked very earnest and a little scared. He got to going the wrong way once but was quickly turned around by his kindergarten teacher. Jerry was glad for Andy's sake when the Maypole dance was over.

Now came the crowning of the King and Queen. Cathy wore a white billowy dress and her mother's pearl necklace. She was flushed and her eyes shone.

"What a little charmer she will be in a few years," Jerry heard one of the mothers say.

"Yeah! A snake charmer," Jerry thought. He knew though that that was not the kind of charmer meant. Jerry did not want Cathy to charm anybody, especially boys. It made him mad if he saw her look moony at a boy. "Mush" was what Jerry called a certain way some of the girls and boys looked at each other. It was definitely not for him.

Jerry managed to slip away before the exercises were quite over. A spring song by the combined fourth and fifth grades rang in his ears as he left the schoolyard. Everybody would be free to go home at the end of the song, but Jerry wanted to get a head start. He wanted to surprise the family with the box of candy the minute they got home.

He ran all the way to the Bullfinches'. "In an awful hurry. See you later," he said, rushing in and grabbing the tobacco pouch of money from the grandfather clock. Then he was off for the store, running as if chased.

Mr. Bartlett, for once, was alone in the store.

"I came to pay the bill," gasped Jerry, and he emptied the contents of the tobacco pouch on the counter.

"Bring the bill with you?" asked Mr. Bartlett.

What bill? Jerry did not know anything about a bill. But he had saved all the grocery slips. He had gone over to the Bullfinches' the night before and added and added. He was sure the money was the right amount.

Mr. Bartlett looked up the amount due in a ledger. He was a bit grumpy about having to count so much chicken feed, as he called it, as he counted the change. "It's all here," he said finally.

For an awful moment Jerry was afraid he was not going to get a bonus for paying the bill. It was with enormous relief that he saw Mr. Bartlett reach for a half-pound pasteboard box.

"It was a fair-sized bill and I'll give you a full half pound," said Mr. Bartlett. "Anything you prefer?"

Jerry said he would like a few pink and green mints. With pleasure he watched Mr. Bartlett arrange a row of varicolored mints and fill up the rest of the box with chocolates—so full that the cover would hardly go down.

Jerry thanked Mr. Bartlett with great heartiness. Fond though he was of candy, Jerry didn't take even as much as a taste on the way home. He would show it to his mother and Cathy and Andy but he would save it untouched until his father got home from work.

"I wanted to prove to you that having a charge account pays off," he would tell his father, offering him the open box, after Andy had had the first piece—Jerry remembered that Andy was to have the first piece. "Where else can you get something for nothing except by charging your groceries at Bartlett's store?" That was what Jerry would say to his father. Or something else that might occur to him later. His father would be sure to see the advantage of charging groceries as soon as he cast an eye on all that free candy.

Jerry whistled gaily most of the way back from the store. "Bet you can't guess what I have," he cried, as he opened the kitchen door and saw his mother and Cathy sitting at the kitchen table. Further cheerful words died in his throat when he saw that both his mother and Cathy had been crying.

"What's the matter?" Could something terrible have happened to his father? Or to Andy? What awful thing could make his mother and Cathy look so sad? There were envelopes and letters on the table. His mother had been opening her mail. The bad news must have come in a letter, then.

"Is Grandma Martin sick again?" Jerry asked.

His mother sobbed, and Jerry couldn't remember ever seeing his mother cry. "How could you, Jerry? How could you do such a dreadful thing?"

"He didn't do it. I know he didn't to it!" cried Cathy. "Tell her you didn't do it, Jerry. Tell her it must be a mistake."

"To think that a son of mine would be a thief!" said Jerry's mother. And the face she turned toward him was full of hurt and disappointment. It tore Jerry inside.

"I haven't done anything. Anything wrong," he said.

"You stand there and tell me that you haven't been charging groceries at Bartlett's store for a month?"

"Sure I did but—"

"Oh, Jerry!" Cathy burst into tears.

"What did you do with the money?" demanded Jerry's mother. "Mischief can be forgiven but stealing is a crime. When I opened an envelope and found a bill for the month of April from Bartlett's store, I hoped against hope that there must be a mistake. But now you confess you've been deceiving me and charging the groceries that I gave you money to pay for. I never thought I would be so ashamed of you, Jerry Martin." The look she gave him was worse than a blow.

So she thought him a thief—was ashamed of him—believed the worst of him before giving him a chance to explain. Jerry felt such a deep hurt he felt like crying but he wasn't going to let anybody see him cry. And if that was what his mother thought of him, he wasn't going to stay around here. Not after she had looked at him as if she wished he did not belong in her family.

Jerry slammed the box of candy so hard on the table that the cover opened and some of the candy fell out.

"I paid the bill with the money. Ask Mr. Bartlett if you don't believe me. I was going to surprise you by showing you the bonus he gives for charging a month's groceries. I didn't spend a cent of your old money. I—" Jerry suddenly could not endure being there a second longer. He rushed out, slamming the door behind him.

Rage sent Jerry hurrying down his street and out to Massachusetts Avenue. He was so hurt and angry he could hardly see straight. He would run away from home. He would leave Washington. He would go somewhere a long way off. He would go where nobody would be likely to accuse him unjustly of being a thief. He walked rapidly, almost running in his hurry to leave home.

Where should he go? Jerry did not have even the bus fare to go to town, let alone get out of the city. But he had two feet, didn't he? Maybe after he decided where he was going he would hitchhike. Jerry knew his mother disapproved of hitchhiking but why should he pay any attention to that now, after she had believed him to be a thief? Jerry made no effort, however, to hitch a ride. He walked and walked.

There were azaleas in bloom in some of the yards he passed. Bushes of faded lilacs. Bright beds of tulips and pansies. Jerry did not notice them. He was in no mood to enjoy flowers. He was about a mile from home when he remembered hearing a guest say to his mother, "Florida is really delightful in the spring. And after the winter visitors have left the prices go down."

Jerry thought it might be a good idea to go where the prices had gone down. Be easier for him to earn enough to live on. A lot of people went fishing off the coast of Florida. Maybe he could help out on some fishing boat. Jerry liked to fish and he liked boats. That idea appealed to him. But he realized that it was a long, long way to Florida from Washington, D. C. It was even a long way—five miles at least—from Jerry's house to Memorial Bridge, over which he would cross the Potomac into the state of Virginia.

As Jerry went along the part of Massachusetts Avenue which has many foreign embassies, it occurred to him that he might be seeing Washington for the last time. So he looked hard at the white Venezuelan Embassy and at the red brick British Embassy. Those were his two favorites, and he wanted to remember how they looked.

There were several circles to go around and a bridge to cross over Rock Creek Park before Jerry was anywhere near Memorial Bridge. He missed his direction a little when he left Massachusetts Avenue, but he was finally in sight of the Lincoln Memorial and the bridge was near.

Jerry yielded to an impulse to take a last look at the Lincoln Memorial. He climbed the steps and stood and gazed up at the seated figure of Abraham Lincoln, with so much sadness and kindness in his face.

Having paid his respects to Abraham Lincoln, it didn't seem quite right to be leaving town without doing the same by George Washington. Weary though his legs were, Jerry trudged over to the Washington Monument.

There were not many people waiting in line to go up in the Monument. Jerry was the only one who walked up instead of riding to the top in the elevator. Jerry did not know why he wanted to climb all those eight hundred and ninety-eight steps, but he did. He did a lot of thinking and remembering on his way up. That was the way you did when you were leaving home, he guessed. He thought of school and home and playing baseball—things like that. And some about George Washington. Jerry greatly admired all he had read about him. He was glad they had named the capital of the United States for Washington.

Jerry had been at the top of the Monument many times, yet it was always a thrill to go from window to window and see each scene below. From this one he could see the Capitol and the greenish dome of the Library of Congress. From another window he looked down on a crowded part of the city. Jerry thought that if he knew just where to look, he might see the hospital where he had been born.

The window that overlooked the White House was one of Jerry's favorite views. He remembered Easter Mondays when he had gone to roll eggs on the White House lawn. He remembered a time when he was five, younger than Andy—a time when he had gotten separated from his mother—had been lost. A Girl Scout had taken him to a place where lost children waited to be claimed. A lady played games with them while they waited, but a few of the children had cried. Jerry had not cried. He somehow felt more like crying now. And even more lost.

Well, he must be on his way. He would take the elevator down, for he felt his legs would not last for all of those steps going down. Yet he was reluctant to leave the top of the Monument. Each window gave a picture postcard view of the city he was leaving. It was up here that he was really saying good-by to Washington, D. C.

Why did he have to think just then of the honesty of Lincoln? Or of how Washington had stayed with his soldiers through the hardships of the winter at Valley Forge? They were not men who had run away from the hard things of life. Jerry tried to close his mind against thoughts of Lincoln and Washington. They were dead and gone and had nothing to do with him. It was no use. It had been a mistake, Jerry realized now, to revisit the Memorial and the Monument. Something in both places had pulled against his wanting to run away. Suddenly Jerry realized that he couldn't do it. He no longer even wanted to run away. He wanted to go home.