It is just so with your conscience—your power to tell right from wrong. While you keep it up straight, it works well, and never wears out. But when it gets a little out of order, it grows worse very fast, and is not of much more value than a lighthouse without any light in it.
Kate's conscience had begun to sag over on one side. It was growing weak, and did not remind her of her wrong deeds with force enough to make itself heeded. If she could only escape the reproof of her mother, she did not care.
Thus moved by the wicked counsel of Ben Tinker, she hastened home. She tried to look as if nothing had happened, but her eyes were still very red from crying; and her mother wanted to know what had made her cry.
"Fanny Flynn struck me, and pulled my 'shaker' over my face," replied Kate.
"What did she do that for?"
"She asked me to give her a drink of the milk, and because I wouldn't, she struck me," answered Kate, placing her pail upon the kitchen table.
"She is a naughty girl, and I will go and see her mother about it. What did she say to you?"
"She asked me for a drink of the milk."
"What did you answer?"
"I told her it was for Mrs. O'Brien's children, and that it wouldn't be right for me to give it to her, and I would not."