"I am sorry I was pert!" I answered, softening as soon as I saw that my aunt was disposed to do me justice. "I beg your pardon. But, indeed, indeed, I did not break the Indian tree."
"Tell me all about it!" said my aunt. "How was it?"
I began and went over the whole story—how badly I had felt; how I went to see the Indian tree, and had kissed one of the flowers, because I fancied that it looked kindly at me; how Madge and Betty had accused and taunted me; and how in my rage I broke the white lily.
"But that was very foolish!" said my aunt. "What had the poor lily done?"
"Nothing, aunt! I was sorry the next minute, and I buried it in the ground that I might not see the poor thing any more."
"That was what Betty saw you doing in your garden, then?"
"Yes, aunt; I suppose so."
My aunt mused a little, holding my hand in hers meantime. Then she raised her head and said decidedly:
"Loveday, I am disposed to believe that you are telling the truth. I do not think you hurt the flower, unless you broke it by accident, as you say you kissed it. Are you sure you did not?"
"Yes, aunt; quite sure. Oh, Aunt Joyce, do believe me. I can't live if every one thinks me a liar."