‘What did Ronald mean at breakfast by saying that you had told him about Aunt Dora’s invitation, Vivian?’ she asked. ‘How did either of you come to hear of it?’
The little boy rubbed the point of his toe uneasily on the carpet.
‘Ronald is always thinking that I say things,’ he answered evasively, ‘and getting a fellow into a scrape. If he would only mind his own business.’
‘Nay, Vivian, that is unjust; you know Ronald would be the last person in the world to get you into a scrape; and in this case there is no scrape to get into, unless you choose to make one. If by any chance you found out anything about the invitation, as it seems you must have done, it probably was a mistake.’
‘Yes, mother, that was just it, it was a mistake,’ said Vivian, interrupting her eagerly. ‘There was a letter of Aunt Dora’s lying on your desk, and I saw a bit of it when you sent me to get those receipts.’
‘But you must have taken time to read it, did you not?’ said his mother gravely; ‘that could not be a mistake. I thought perhaps you had heard father talking to me about it; we sometimes hear things that are not intended for us to hear, but then the honourable thing to do is to say frankly that you did hear it. To read a letter that is not intended for you is quite a different matter. I did not think a son of mine would have done that.’
The tears came into Vivian’s eyes. He loved his mother passionately, and any appeal from her touched his proud little heart.
‘It really was a mistake at first, mother. When I was looking about for those receipts, I saw the letter lying spread out, and I could not help seeing one sentence. “I hope you will let the boys,” it began, and I did so much want to know what it was that Aunt Dora wanted you to let us do, so I took up the piece of paper and looked over on the other side. I was sorry in a moment, but I did not like to tell.’
‘No, that is just it,’ said his mother. ‘You did not like to tell, and so you were tempted at breakfast this morning to talk as if you knew nothing about it. That was not exactly telling a lie, Vivian; but do you not think that it was acting one? I think that is your besetting sin, my boy. You know that we all have a sin that we must specially fight against, and I want you to try and fight against yours. You have not the moral courage to confess when you have done something wrong, but you try to shuffle and explain things away, so as to hide what you have done. You have plenty of courage in other ways, quite as much, if not more, than Ronald. You have the kind of courage that would make you fight, or face danger; but there is a higher kind of courage than that, and I want you to try and gain it. I mean the courage that will tell the truth, even when the truth is not pleasant, and when you may get laughed at for telling it, and which will own up to a fault rather than try to hide it.
They were a merry party as they walked across the snowymeadow to church. | |
| V. L. | [Page 17]. |
