"Well, yes, he is very pleasant," said Lily, "but then he is an awful liar."
"Oh-h-h! ah! ah!" broke from one and another of the children at Lily's very plain speaking; and Miss Ashton said reprovingly,—
"Lily, my child! what a very improper expression for you to use, and of one so much older than yourself, too."
"I don't care," said Lily, "it is true, Miss Ashton. I know he tells the most dreadful untrue stories, and that does make him a liar, I know. If children say what is very untrue, people say it is a lie; and when grown-ups say what is not true to children I don't see why they are not liars all the same. And Mr. Raymond don't tell little stories what you would call fibs, either, but real big, true lies, what Tom calls whoppers. So, though he is pleasant and good-natured, I don't think he is so very nice; and I'm glad he is not my papa."
Miss Ashton hardly knew what to say, for if Lily's accusations were true,—and the child was not apt to accuse any one wrongfully,—her reasoning was quite just, and it was plainly to be seen that in some way her sense of right and truth had been grievously offended. But still she did not wish to have her speak in such an improper way, and she was about to say so again, when Lily broke forth once more with,—
"Miss Ashton, I'll tell you, and you can just judge for yourself. The other day I was spending the afternoon with Kitty, and her little brother wanted to go down stairs with us, and his papa did not want him to go; so he told him that the big black man in the closet in the hall would catch him and put him up the chimney. And it was a lie! I say it was a real, true lie," persisted Lily, who was apt to be emphatic in her choice of words, "for Mr. Raymond knew there was no black man there, and he just made it up."
"Was the little boy frightened?" asked Belle.
"Yes, as frightened as any thing, and he really believes there is a black man in that closet; and Willie Raymond, who is six years old, will not go past that closet without some big person. And I did feel not very brave myself when I went past it," confessed Lily, "for all I knew there was no black man there—and if there was, he wouldn't hurt me, the poor, old fellow—and knew it was just a—well, if Miss Ashton says so, I'll call it a fib, but I shall think it was a lie."
Miss Ashton and the other ladies could hardly help smiling at Lily's tone; and the former felt that the child was so far right that she could scarcely reprove her again for her indignant attack upon this too common form of deceit.
"And Mr. Raymond went and winked at me, just as if he thought I thought it was funny," pursued Lily; "but I thought it was only horrid, and I didn't smile a bit, but looked back at him very solemn. No, I don't like him, and I'm not going to."