“Why, do you not know how wicked you were to steal, or to try to?”
“Why, no! Meg always tells me to steal anything I can get, and she will beat me now if I go home without anything, and after I have been gone all night, too.”
“Why, how terrible. Let me give you some money,” June said, taking from her little pearl purse a piece of silver, “you can give her that.”
“I thank you,” she said. “I will tell her that I stole it, and I could not get a chance till this morning.”
“Oh, no, do not tell her that, be sure you do not; why it’s just as wicked to tell a falsehood as it is to steal, and both are, oh, awfully wicked! Does not your mama ever tell you how wrong it is to do so?”
“Why, no; she tells me to take all I can get.”
“Where shall we take you?” June asked, as the carriage turned into Woodward Avenue.
“To the end of this street, if you will, and then I’ll run home.”
“Were you afraid last night?” asked June, looking into Zula’s black eyes.
“Afraid?” she repeated, scornfully; “no, I wasn’t. I can be as ugly as any one if I try, no matter where I go.”