"Why, yes, dear; of course it is nice here; it is always nice here; what made you think of it just now?"
Nelly March was one of the honestest little girls that ever lived. Nothing seemed to her so dreadful as a lie; but she came very near telling one now.
"I don't know, mamma," she said; but, almost before the words were out of her mouth, she added:—
"Yes, I do know, too; I meant I didn't want to tell."
"Why not? my little daughter," said Mrs. March, looking much puzzled. "Surely it cannot be any thing you do not want mamma to know."
"Oh, no, mamma! it is something you didn't want me to know," said Nelly hastily, turning very red.
"Something I didn't want you to know, Nell," she said. "What do you mean? And how did you know it then?"
"She listened, she listened," cried Rob, throwing down his book, "and she wouldn't tell me a thing either, and she was real mean."
The tears came into Nelly's eyes, and Mrs. March looked very sternly at Rob.
"Rob," she said, "telling tales is as mean as listening: I'm ashamed of you. Nell, what does he mean?"