"And you cannot go to heaven unless God forgives you, either," added Polly. "You know we all do a great many wrong things, that need to be forgiven."
Lucy thought of the thimble lying under the aloe-leaf on the terrace. "Don't talk about it any more," said she, abruptly. "See, there is your mother calling us. I dare say Cousin Debby is ready to go home."
But Cousin Debby was not quite ready. Mrs. Burgess, in her hospitable kindness, would by no means allow them to depart without refreshment. The table was most invitingly set out in the great, cool parlour,—the parsonage had no other rooms below than the parlour and kitchen, and a room behind, which served the doctor for a study,—and Cousin Deborah and Lady Lucy must eat curds and cream and apricots and seed-cake and drink each a glass of gooseberry wine.
While they were chatting around the table, a shower came up, and Cousin Deborah concluded to wait until it was over. The weather partly cleared up towards evening, and they set out for home. But, before they reached Stanton Court, the rain poured down again, and they arrived at home wet to the skin.
Anne hurried Lucy off to bed, dosing her with warm gruel, lest she should take cold: so, of course, all chance of searching for the thimble was out of the question.
The next morning, before her cousin was dressed, Lucy ran down-stairs and out upon the terrace. Breathlessly she hurried to the flower-pots opposite the bow-window, and lifted the broad leaves one after the other.
The thimble was not there.
She stood bewildered for a moment, when it suddenly flashed across her mind that some one might have found it and put it away.
She hurried to the parlour. No: it was not in the box. It was lost!