An old gentleman who was their fellow-traveller, was very much amused at Agnes’s indignation, and began to tease her by telling her that her mamma was in the habit of telling stories every day; and when Agnes indignantly denied his assertion, he asked her if she thought her mamma had never written “your humble servant” at the end of a letter, without meaning that she was ready to act as a servant to the person she addressed; and whether she did not often say she was glad or sorry to hear some particular piece of news, when she did not, in fact, care much about it. Agnes began to look puzzled, and Mrs. Merton, not liking this mocking style of conversation, as she knew the necessity of keeping a strict line in a child’s mind between truth and falsehood, tried to turn her daughter’s attention to the objects they were passing. It is very strange that sensible and well-informed men should often take as much pleasure in confusing the thoughts of a poor innocent child, as vicious boys do in tormenting a harmless dog. This gentleman, whose name they afterwards found was Mr. Bevan, was a well-intentioned, good-hearted man, who would have been shocked at the thought of hurting Agnes by treading on her foot, or pushing her down; and yet, while he would have shrunk from wilfully inflicting on her a trifling bodily hurt which could only have caused a temporary suffering, he had no hesitation in doing a serious injury to her mind. It is true he only wished to amuse himself by watching the play of her countenance, without thinking of the consequences; and that if she had been his child he would have been the first to correct her for telling a falsehood: but his mocking strain roused the first doubt that had ever crossed the mind of Agnes as to whether it was possible to tell a falsehood without meaning any harm. Hitherto she had been truth itself, and still nothing would have induced her to tell a falsehood wilfully: but she was puzzled, as she was not old enough to distinguish between positive assertions, and mere conventional phrases, to which nobody attaches any precise meaning; and that perfect confidence in the holiness and power of truth, which is so beautiful a feature in the youthful mind, was shaken. Mrs. Merton wished to prevent her daughter’s mind from dwelling on the subject, and pointing to a corn-field, she asked Agnes, if she knew what corn it was. Before, however, the child could answer, a young man who sat opposite told her with a patronizing air, that it was wheat. “You may know it,” continued he; “by its close heads. Barley and rye have long bristles, and oats have loose heads.”