“I wonder what the child meant,” she thought. “She looked queer when she spoke. But there! with all their faults—and goodness knows they’ve plenty—they’re straight, every one of them. A crooked-minded Dale or a crooked-minded Tredgold would be a person unheard of. Oh, yes, they’re straight enough, that’s a blessing.”
Meanwhile Patty sought her sister.
“It’s worse than I thought,” she remarked. “It’s not even a tarradiddle.”
“What do you mean?” asked Briar.
“The lie you told—the lie I am to help you to hide. It’s black as ink, and God is very angry with little girls who tell lies. He scarcely can forgive lies. I was talking to nurse, and she explained.”
“You don’t mean to say that you told her about Pauline?”
“No,” answered Patty in a voice of scorn. “I am not quite as bad as that. But she was speaking about Aunt Sophy and how wild she used to be, and she compared her to Paulie, and said that Aunt Sophy never did anything mean or underhand, and that Paulie never did either. I felt as if I could jump, for we know, Briar, what Paulie has done.”
“Yes, we know,” answered Briar. “And you and I have done very wrong, too. But there is no help for it now, Patty. We can’t go back.”
“It certainly does seem awful to think of growing up wicked,” said Patty. “I don’t like it.”
“Don’t let’s talk about it,” said Briar. “We’ll have to suffer some time, but perhaps not yet. Do you know that the apples are getting ripe, and John wants us to help him to pick them? Oh! and the mulberry-tree, too, is a mass of fruit. What do you say to climbing the apple-trees and shaking down the apples?”