"And yet Gerald does go there!" Mrs. Mickle cried involuntarily, now comprehending the reason why he had deceived his sister as to his doings on the preceding Saturday afternoon. "What do you mean?" Angel asked quickly, her face paling. "Oh, Mrs. Mickle, surely you must be mistaken Gerald would not disobey Uncle Edward like that! Why—why—" She paused, the anxiety and doubt on her expressive countenance giving place to a look of sad certainty. "Oh, it is true!" she cried in great distress. "I understand it all now. That is where Gerald went on Saturday afternoon. Gilbert said he had not gone to play cricket. I noticed the clay on his boots when he came home, and—oh, dear, what shall I do? How wrong of him to disobey Uncle Edward like that, and to tell such a story too!" "It was very wrong of him," Mrs. Mickle said gravely, "if he was my son I should punish him severely." "But father doesn't know—oh!—you won't tell him? Oh, please, don't tell him!" "Angel, my dear child, you have no right to shield your brother as you do. Oh, I mean it! Did it never occur to you that in glossing over Gerald's faults you yourself are acting a deceptive part? I know how you love him; and I do not encourage any one to tell tales of another, as a rule, but there are exceptional cases when it is right to speak out. Gerald has disobeyed his uncle, and been very untruthful, I fear; now such behaviour should be stopped, and—" "I will speak to him! I will make him promise faithfully never to go near the clay pits again!" Angel cried. "He is so thoughtless! Oh, Mrs. Mickle, please, please don't say I ought to tell father! Gerald will be sorry when I point out to him how wicked he has been. And father would be so grieved! You don't understand how fond and proud he is of Gerald." "Oh yes, I think I do! Well, I won't say you ought to tell your father—that is, if you can be certain you can persuade Gerald to keep away from the clay pits for the future. Think how terrible it would be if there was an accident! But, there," she proceeded as Angel gave a shudder of horror, "we won't contemplate that. Do believe that I have spoken to you as I have because I care for you very much—you, and Gerald too. I have a motherly interest in you both." Angel flung her arms impetuously around her kind friend's neck, and kissed her with great affection; whilst she whispered— "I know, I know! You are so good to me! Oh, if only mother had lived! Oh, Mrs. Mickle, you can't think how much I want her sometimes!" "Yes, dear, I think I can," was the sympathetic response. "I am sure you and Gerald must miss her dreadfully." "You will have such a bad opinion of Gerald now," Angel said, with a sigh of deep regret. "I'm afraid you won't like him any more."