"Am I dead?"
"No, indeed," said the other, not without some effort to speak cheerfully. "You are going to get well now; only keep still and don't tire yourself."
"I am going to die," said Bertie, slowly; "and I can't die, I am so wicked. Katie, I said dreadful things about you. I made all the girls hate you, and Miss Etta, too; but it wasn't quite a lie, for I did see you take the money."
"Yes," said Katie, quietly, "I did find a fifty-dollar bill in an old vest, and I suppose you saw me; but why didn't you tell me you saw it, instead of telling the girls? Then I could have explained all about it?"
"I don't know," said Bertie, uneasily. "Yes, I do; that's another lie, and I don't mean to tell lies now, I didn't want to have it explained. I wanted the girls to dislike you as much as I did."
"Why?" said Katie, astonished.
"Oh, well, you preached to me, and pretended to be a saint, and Miss
Etta and everybody thought you were so good, and"—
"Shall I tell you about that bill now?"
"Yes, do!"
So Katie told her companion just how it happened, and it was all so simple that she wondered how she could have made such a story of it.