"You didn't do it, nor I either," said Meta; stooping to gather up the fragments, "the doll kicked it off. There, Vi, don't cry so; I'll put the things all back just as they were, and never, never touch one of them again." "But you can't; because this one's broken. Oh dear, oh dear! I wish you had let them alone, Meta. I wish, I wish I'd been a good girl and obeyed mamma!" "Never mind: if she goes to whip you, I'll tell her it was 'most all my fault. But she needn't know: it won't be a story to put them back and say nothing about it. And most likely it won't be found out for years and years; maybe never. You see I'll just put this plate between the others in the pile and it won't be noticed at all that it's broken; unless somebody takes them all down to look." "But I must tell mamma," sobbed Violet. "I couldn't hide it; I always tell her everything; and I'd feel so wicked." "Violet Travilla, I'd never have believed you'd be so mean as to tell tales," remarked Meta, severely. "I'd never have played with you if I'd known it." "I'll not; I didn't mean that. I'll only tell on myself." "But you can't do that without telling on me too, and I say it's real mean. I'll never tell a story about it, but I don't see any harm in just getting the things away and saying nothing. 'Taint as if you were throwing the blame on somebody else," pursued Meta, gathering up the articles abstracted from the closet and replacing them, as nearly as possible as she had found them. "Come, dry your eyes, Vi," she went on, "or somebody'll see you've been crying and ask what it was about." "But I must tell mamma," reiterated the little girl, sobbing anew. "And make her feel worried and sorry because the plate's broken, when it can't do any good, and she needn't ever know about it. I call that real selfishness." This, to Vi, was a new view of the situation. She stopped crying to consider it. It certainly would grieve mamma to know that the plate was broken, and perhaps even more to hear of her child's disobedience, and if not told she would be spared all that pain. But on the other hand, mamma had always taught her children that wrong doing should never be concealed. The longer Vi pondered the question the more puzzled she grew. Meta perceived that she wavered and immediately seized her advantage. "Come now, Vi, I'm sure you don't want to give pain to your mamma, or to get me into trouble. Do you?" "No, Meta, indeed I don't, but--" "Hush! somebody's coming," exclaimed Meta, locking the closet door, having just finished her work, and hastily dropping the key into her pocket. "Come, girls, come quick! we're sending up a balloon, from the lawn!" cried Eddie throwing open the door to make his announcement, then rushing away again. The girls ran after him, in much excitement, and forgetting for the time the trouble they were in; for spite of Meta's sophistry her conscience was by no means easy.