Louisa could only say that she did not know. The cakes were safe when she went away.
"Who was that woman I saw going out just now?" asked Mrs. Winter, who had come into the kitchen.
Louisa did not know. She had not seen any woman.
"It was one of those gypsies who are camped over beyond Savin Hill, I'll be bound!" said Mary. "There is no use in running after her. I don't see but poor Miss Anna must go without her birthday cake unless we can send into town and buy some."
"You were very much to blame, Louisa," said Mrs. Winter.
"Why, mamma, I did not know that the woman was coming in."
"That makes no difference. You knew that you had promised to watch the cakes while Mary was away, and you ought to have kept your word. You have been guilty of a breach of trust!"
"But, mamma, I only meant to be gone a minute—" Louisa was beginning, when her mother checked her sharply.
"Hush, Louisa! Don't let me hear that odious excuse again. Suppose it was only for a minute. Have you any more right to do wrong for a minute than for a day? You are always saying—'only a minute,' 'just a minute,' but your minutes are very apt to lengthen into hours. It was your stopping 'just a minute' when you were sent on an important errand which almost cost the poor little baby its life, last summer. It is your stopping 'just a minute' to read or play or do something else to please yourself, which makes you late at breakfast, at school, and at church; which makes it impossible to trust you to do the least thing or to believe your most serious premises."
"Oh, mamma! I don't tell lies!" said Louisa, crying. "I am sure I never do that."