Turning hastily about, Carrie ran down a short side entry which led to a dark closet where Catherine kept wood for daily use; thrust the box in a far corner; and then, with fast beating heart, returned to the store-room.
"How long you stayed!" said Nellie. "I began to be afraid you were waiting to see Catherine drown the mice, and yet I didn't think you could bear to."
"No, I didn't," said Carrie, in a low tone, glad that Nellie had not said any thing that would have forced her either to confess, or to tell a deliberate falsehood. She persuaded herself that she was not acting untruthfully now, but she could not make her voice as steady as usual.
Nellie did not notice it. She was just then absorbed in trying to extract a small jar from one but little larger, into which it had been thrust. Succeeding in her endeavors, she took up again the low song which her words to Carrie had interrupted.
"I wish Nellie would stop that everlasting singing," said Carrie to herself, feeling irritable and out of humor with every one and every thing. "I've a good mind not to help her any more."
She had been pleasant, happy, and interested in her work, but a few moments since. Can you tell what had made such a change in so short a time?
"Daisy has forgotten about her corks and sugar, I think," said Nellie presently, interrupting herself again in her song. "Oh, no! here she comes;" then, as Daisy's little feet pattered into the store-room, "Did you forget the corks, pet?"
"No, and mamma says I can have the biggest lump of sugar, Nellie; and there's a very big bundle on the hall-table, but it's papa's."
"Is it?" said Nellie.
"Yes," answered the little one, settling herself to the task of sorting the corks, "but I wasn't kurous or messeltome."