IT was decided that with turning and a little alteration the dress would do very nicely for the Pafford's party. And as soon as tea was over, Dora, Katie, and Olive, who was very proud to help, set about taking out the seams. Before the unripping was finished, Robert returned. He did not seem in a very talkative mood, and glancing up presently from the little sock she was darning, his mother was struck by the weary look on his face.
"You seem tired, dear," she said. "What have you been doing all day?"
"Oh, lots of things," he replied, as he hastily took up a book and opened it. "Jack and I were out of doors the greater part of the time."
"And I could declare I saw you once," said Katie briskly—unpicking the dress was a delightful occupation—"But I knew I was mistaken because this boy who was so like you was on the ice. It couldn't have been you skating."
"No, of course it couldn't," and Robert gave a short laugh. But behind his book, his face, which had been crimson a moment before, suddenly grew pale. He gave a sigh of relief as he heard Giles ask for an explanation of a passage in the story he was reading. In a few minutes he rose, and saying he was "tired out," asked his mother to excuse him and let him go to bed.
Poor Robert! He carried a heavy heart with him upstairs, because for the first time since he had understood the sin that is committed in giving utterance to a lie, he had sullied his lips with a falsehood.
The dress was unpicked at last, and a note sent to the dressmaker who often worked at 99, Madeira Street, to beg her to come to superintend the re-making of the white serge as soon as possible. Then, when Katie had taken her departure to bed, Dora put herself in her favourite attitude on the hearthrug, and with her elbow on her mother's knee, said,—
"Now, please, let us have our talk together. I have a pencil and note-book, and I mean to write down all the duties you are going to give me to do."
"NOW, PLEASE, LET US HAVE OUR TALK TOGETHER."