Bessie Bradford's Prize

by Joanna H. Mathews

She reproached him for having appealed to Hannah, a servant in his father's house, for aid; and in her turn had to hear his reproaches for believing that he would condescend to such a thing, and received an emphatic and solemn denial that he had been guilty of this, or that he had ever let Hannah know of the straits he was in. He had never, he asseverated, spoken or written to any one concerning this, save herself; if he had done so it would have been to his indulgent uncle, Colonel Rush, to whom he would have applied.

How then had Hannah become possessed of his secret, was the question which the brother and sister now asked of each other and of themselves. Here was a mystery, indeed; for that it had been Hannah who sent that second hundred dollars could not be doubted after Miss Trevor's revelations. And why should she have sent the money unless she had known that Percy was in sore need?

"Did you tell Hannah anything about it?" he asked.

"No!" answered Lena, indignantly. "How could I tell her such a thing?
And you know how you told me I must never, never tell."

"And you did not show her my letter?" asked the puzzled Percy, who was by no means pleased, as may be imagined, by the knowledge that one other, at least, must share the secret.

"No," repeated Lena, still more vexed that he should suppose her to be capable of such an evasion, which to her sense of uprightness would have been as bad as speaking a falsehood by word of mouth; "no, of course I did not, that would have been telling her, would it not? One can do a falsehood as well as tell it," and although she had intended no reflection upon her brother, no thrust at him, Percy was ashamed as he remembered how often, during the last few months, he had done this very thing; how he had shuffled and evaded, and thought it no great harm as long as he did not put his falsehood into actual words.

"Well, no one knows how thankful I am to you, Lena, dear," he said.
"What can I ever do for you?"

"Tell Uncle Horace. I wish, oh, I do wish you would tell him," said his sister.

"Tell Uncle Horace; no, never!" exclaimed Percy. "I couldn't. Think of that look in his eyes when he hears of anything he thinks shabby or—well—dishonorable. He'd be ready to put me out of his house if he heard about that letter, even though we didn't know what was in it. I couldn't, Lena; I couldn't."

"I think it would be better for you," said his sister, "for Aunt May knew about Hannah and Miss Trevor, and she is sure to have told him. They have said nothing about it to me; but I know Uncle Horace will ask you, and then you must confess. It will be best to tell him without waiting till you must; he will not think so badly of you."