“‘Margaret,’ said mother, taking hold of my hands, ‘stand still and tell me the exact truth. Did Jean push you off the box, or did you jump?’
“‘Jean pushed,’ I began, but I could not look into mother’s eyes, and tell her a lie again. ‘Anyhow,’ I said, half-crying, ‘she wanted to push me!’
“‘Tell me the truth, Margaret,’ mother said. ‘Did Jean touch you at all?’
“‘No,’ I said, unwillingly.
“‘Did she even say she was going to?’
“‘No!’ I cried, ‘for she would not speak to me.’
“‘Then why did you say that she wanted to push you off? Did she ever do such a thing?’
“‘No, never!’ I admitted, and then I began to feel very much ashamed of myself, for my anger never lasted long.
“Then mother said, ‘Very well, Jean, I quite understand the matter now.’ Then she sent her away, and talked to me for a long time. She questioned me closely, and learned that I was the only one to blame. She made me understand what a dreadful thing it was to tell even a little lie, and how telling little ones would lead to a habit, so that one might say what was not true in very important matters. Altogether, I was very repentant, and promised never to tell another lie about anything, and I believe I never did. The soap and water helped me remember it.”
“What was the soap and water?” asked Cricket.