"I did not know she was my aunt," said Mary.
"That makes no difference, Mary. You knew she was a woman with a child, and the fact that you thought you were playing a trick upon a poor person makes your fault worse instead of better. Nor do I think you mend the matter by saying that you did not speak a word. You ought to have spoken, especially when the woman inquired for your own mother."
"I know it was wicked and mean, mamma," said Mary. "I have been sorry ever since. I wish Jane Marvin had never come here!" she added, bursting into tears again. "She is always making me do bad things and leading me into mischief!"
"That is sheer nonsense, Mary. Jane could not make you do anything you did not choose, nor lead you where you did not choose to go. If you had been so very easily led, you would have been governed by Helen, whom you have known three times as long as you have known Jane, and whom you have every reason to love and trust."
"You have done very wrong, Mary—very wrong, indeed," continued Mrs. Willis, after a moment's silence. "I cannot excuse what you have done by throwing the blame on Jane. Every one of the party who allowed the cruel imposition to go on was guilty of helping on the cheat. I shall see that Miss Lyman is informed in the morning of the way in which her pupils amuse themselves, and you must expect to take your share of the blame. Now go to bed, and when you say your prayers, ask God to forgive your mean and cruel conduct."
"Won't you forgive me, and kiss me, mamma?" sobbed Mary.
"When I see that you are sensible of your fault, Mary. At present you seem inclined to throw the blame entirely upon somebody else, and to think you are to be excused because 'somebody made you' do what you knew was wicked and cruel."
Mary went away to bed crying bitterly. She had never been so miserable in all her life. It was not the first time she had been "made" by Jane to do wrong. She had done things in Jane's company which she was both afraid and ashamed to have her mother know; but she had always excused herself by thinking they were all Jane's faults.
Now, as she thought about the matter, she saw how useless and vain were all such excuses. If she was so easily led, why had she not been governed by Helen, whom she had known more years than she had known Jane months, who was always ready to give up her own convenience for her sake, and whom she had never known to do a mean action? Why was she not as easily led to do right as to do wrong?
Mary learned more about herself that wretched night than she had ever known before. She had always known that she was a sinner—now she felt it, which is quite a different thing. She thought of all the wrong things she had done lately—the whispering, and reading story-books in prayer-time, the playing truant from school and lying to conceal it—the mysterious private talks about things of which she ought never to have thought; much less spoken—the secrets kept from her mother, to whom she used to tell everything. Mary no longer tried to excuse herself. She felt her own wickedness, and with real repentance asked her Heavenly rather to forgive her for Christ's sake. Then feeling a little comforted, she went to sleep.