"I got well, only I limped a little. Then it was almost time to think of making presents for the Christmas tree. I didn't like to have Christmas come while I was feeling so. People are so good that day, I thought. That is the time when every body loves you, and spends money for you. I wanted to confess, and feel clean; but then I had told that lie over so many times that I thought I couldn't take it back."
"I talked it over with myself a great while though, and at last said I, 'I will; I'll do it!' First, I asked God to forgive me and help me, and when I had got as far as that, the thing was half done, children."
"I went into the parlor where your grandfather was—he wasn't deaf then. I thought I should choke; but I caught hold of one of the buttons on his coat, and spoke as fast as I could."
"'O father,' said I, 'I've told more than a hundred thousand lies. I did take that hatchet! Will you forgive me?'"
"Did he?" asked Susy.
"Forgive! I guess he did! My dear child, it was just what he had been waiting to do! And, O, I can tell you he talked to me in such a way about the awful sin of lying, that I never, never forgot it, and shan't, if I live to be a hundred years old."
"My father had forgiven me: I was sure God had forgiven me too; and after that, I felt as if I could look people in the face once more, and I had a splendid time Christmas.—I believe that's about all the story there is to it, children."
"Well," said Grace, "I'm much obliged to you, auntie; I think it's just as nice as a fairy story—don't you, Susy?"
"I don't know, I'm sure," replied Susy, looking confused. "See here, auntie, I've lost your gold ring!"
"My ring?" said aunt Madge. "I forgot that I let you take it."