"Yes," said Harebell miserably. "I remember quite well, but I haven't told a lie, I really haven't."
"Don't try to cover up one lie with another; that is only making matters worse."
Harebell was silent. What could she say?
"Have you anything to say for yourself?"
"I don't know," faltered Harebell; "it was—was a mistake. I—I thought you'd given me leave."
"How can you have the face to say such a thing to me? You know I did not."
"I didn't tell a lie," Harebell murmured.
Her aunt looked at her with an expression of disgust. "I suppose I was foolish to think that you were a truthful child. My eyes are open now. If you had only frankly confessed, I might have regarded it more leniently. However, I keep my word, I shall send you to school after the summer holidays. Never will I have a child in my house who deceives, or tries to deceive me."
Harebell began to cry.
"Oh," she sobbed in the depths of her despair, "if you were God, you'd understand!"