"She says so; but I don't know if she will," was the answer.
Hattie's was not the simple faith of "Mamma says so," so sweet in little children. Mamma might or might not do as she had said she would, according to the convenience of the moment.
So it was no marvel that Hattie thought it no great harm to escape punishment or gain some fancied good by stretching the truth, or even telling a deliberate falsehood; or that, having a great love of talking, a story should outgrow its true dimensions in her hands; or that she did not see what was honest and upright as well as some children.
But with Gracie Howard it was very different.
Truth, and truth before all things, was the motto in her home, the lesson which from her babyhood had been taught to her by precept and by example; and the conscience which, in Hattie, was so easily put to sleep, would not let her rest. In vain did jealousy and ambition try to reconcile her to the act of dishonesty and meanness into which she had allowed herself to be drawn; in vain did she argue with herself that "it was all Hattie's fault;" she could not betray Hattie when she had done this just for her; or "there was no way of putting the mat back now; she could not help herself." Gracie sinned with her eyes open, and her conscience all alive to the wickedness of which she was guilty.
But her stubborn pride was beginning to give way in one point; for she had no mind to "lose the fun of the fair," as Hattie said,—though even the fair had lost some of its attraction with this weight upon her conscience,—and she resolved to send for her mother, and tell her she would ask Miss Ashton's pardon.
So when the long, weary afternoon had worn away, and Mrs. Howard came home, Gracie rang the bell, and sent a message begging her mother to come to her.
Mamma came thankfully; but one look at her little daughter's face was enough to convince her that she was in no softened mood, in no gentle and humbled spirit. It was with a sullen and still half-defiant manner that Gracie offered to do what was required of her; and her mother saw that it was fear of farther punishment, and not real sorrow and repentance, which moved her.
"I suppose I ought not to have spoken so, mamma," she answered, when her mother asked her if she did not see how very naughty she had been; "but Miss Ashton is so unjust, and Nellie provokes me so."