They opened the door, and found the brilliant silver knife, not in the magpie's nest, but sticking in a cheese, from which a large portion appeared to have been detached.
The children were amazed, and their Father much grieved.
"Here is your knife, Mary," said John, who first saw it. "Certainly, there is no need of a looking-glass to find it."
"You must not joke, my children," said the Father; "this is a very sad business. I am thankful it has taken place in the absence of your dear Mother, and I forbid you writing her anything about it. This must concern me, and me alone."
William.—(Indignantly.)—"It amounts to a theft, a falsehood!"
Lucy.—"But who has done it, William? Did not Mary leave her knife here?"
William.—"Who saw the Magpie carrying it off in his beak?"
Mary.—(To Lucy.)—"Do you not understand that it was poor Elizabeth, who came here with my knife, which she took off the table where I left it, and who, after having cut a piece of cheese with it, went to the fruit-room, no doubt to steal some apples also."
John.—(Angrily.)—"Papa, Elizabeth has acted deceitfully—will you allow her to remain with you? One of the Psalms, the 101st, I think, says, 'He that worketh deceit shall not dwell within my house.'"
The Father.—(Gravely.) "It is said also in Holy Scriptures, my son, that 'mercy rejoiceth against judgment,' and perhaps, John, if any of us, had been brought up like poor Elizabeth, we might have done even worse than this."