At last she put on the thimble and began sewing with it. She took a few stitches with great satisfaction,—when all at once the eye of the needle found out the hole in the top of the thimble, and entered pretty deeply under Lucy's finger-nail. Now, there are few things more provocative of hasty action than a prick under the nails. Lucy dropped her work and gave her hand a sudden shake,—when off flew the thimble through the long window which opened to the terrace. At the same moment she heard Cousin Debby coming down-stairs, stopping on the landing to talk with the housemaid. Hastily restoring the other articles to their places, Lucy peeped out to see what had become of the thimble. There it lay, just under one of the low flower-vases which adorned the terrace, half hidden under a broad-leaved plant which grew there. Lucy could see it plainly, and was just going to step out of the window to recover it, when Cousin Debby came out at the hall door and along towards the bow-window. Hastily Lucy shrank back, and resumed her work, her fingers trembling and her heart sick with fear. Cousin Debby would no doubt see the thimble, and then all would be over. "Well, Lucy, how has the work progressed?" asked Cousin Debby, pausing before the open window. "Not very well," said Lucy, trying to speak quietly. "I pricked my finger, and I had to stop and wait for it to be done bleeding." "Let me see," said Cousin Debby. "Why, that is a deep prick! You had better not sew any more just now, lest it should inflame and be troublesome. Run and get your hood, and we will walk down to the lodge." Lucy's heart sank deeper still; but she dared not disobey. The best way would have been to tell the plain truth and pick up the thimble openly; but this she dared not do. She had been so severely treated for the least fault, that she had learned the habit of concealing every thing. She went up-stairs and put on her hood, expecting all the time to hear her name sharply called and feel her poor little fingers and arms tingle and burn from the application of a whalebone or ratan. Nothing of the sort happened, however. When she came down, Cousin Debby was standing talking with the old gardener about some plants. "You will be sure and remember, Robbins?" said she. "Yes, madam,—oh, yes: I never forgets any thing," said Robbins. "I dare say he will never think of it again," said Cousin Debby, as they walked away. "The poor old man grows more and more forgetful every day." Lucy had a pleasant walk, and enjoyed very much seeing the dear little babies and holding one of them in her arms. The good woman lamented her want of baby-clothes; and Cousin Debby promised to see what she could find for them. "You did not tell her that I was making a petticoat for the baby," Lucy ventured to observe, as they left the lodge to return home.