"You don't believe me, you little wretch!" said Lucy, reddening with anger. "How dare you say such things? Do you think I, the daughter of Professor Ralph Merriman, would tell lies?"
"Well, you've told one now," said Agnes stoutly; "for I don't believe my darling Irene ever did such naughty—such very naughty—things."
"You ask Miss Frost—your dear Emily, as you call her. Here she comes walking along the bank. You go up and ask her, and if she tells you that I am wrong, then I will confess that some one told me lies. There, go at once and do it."
Miss Frost approached the pair to take little Agnes off Lucy's hands, for it did not occur to her as possible that a girl of Lucy Merriman's type could be really interested in her little sister. When she saw the white face and trembling lips, and the anxious eyes, she stopped suddenly, her own heart beating violently.
"What is it, Aggie? What is wrong, darling?" she said; and she bent down and touched the little one on the shoulder.
"Oh, Emmie, it isn't true—it can't be true!" said little Agnes.
"I have been telling her one or two things," said Lucy. "I have thought it best to put her on her guard. You have done an exceedingly silly thing to allow her to sleep in the room with that changeling sort of girl, Irene Ashleigh. Some day little Agnes will get a great fright. She says that she doesn't believe me; but you can tell her the truth, can't you? You did swallow wood-lice, did you not?"
"I—I would rather not speak of it," said Miss Frost. "It is all over now." But she shuddered as she spoke.
"Nevertheless, you must tell her. The child will not believe me."
"It was a long time ago, darling. Oh, Lucy, what have you done? What mischief you have done! How could you be so unkind?"