“There isn’t any other one!” retorted Peggy.
“Yes, there is. I believe in him, and so do you, every one of you!” countered Isabelle. “He was just as real as Mr. Benjamin. You said so yourselves.”
“But he’s only made up.”
“Oh, can’t you see that the things you make up are lots realer than the things that are?” cried Isabelle with such conviction that they were all silenced.
“The matter comes to this, doesn’t it? Isabelle, not intending to lie, misled all of ye about her father,” said Mr. Benjamin, gravely.
“Yes, and we adored him so! When that little wizened man came in, we almost died!” blurted out Peggy.
The light broke upon the Benjamins, but they tried not to smile at each other.
“Isabelle’s imagination can prove a gift or a curse,” Mr. Benjamin continued. “Its possession lays a great obligation upon her. If it is used to mislead, or to obscure the truth, it is a dangerous power. Whatever the extenuating circumstances, it comes to this, that Isabelle lied to her friends. Phœbe, what does thee think about this situation?”
“I think thee is right in saying that this is a very serious matter. I agree with Isabelle, that she should be punished, if only to remind her that such misuse of a talent is a very ugly thing.”