But, if what Cousin Debby said was true, what was the use of her praying? She had told several lies about the thimble; and she knew she meant to tell another and a worse one. She had planned to tell Cousin Debby that the window was left open and the box unlocked, and that the beggar-woman must have come in and stolen the thimble. "But I will not say a word about it, unless she asks me; and, anyway, I dare say she did take the thimble from the terrace: so that will be partly true. And I will be just as good as I can be about every thing else, and I will never tell a lie again after this time." So Lucy resolved; but, somehow, the resolution did not seem to afford her much comfort. She did her lessons unusually well, and received great commendation; but Cousin Debby's praises did not give her the same pleasure that they had done yesterday. Her mind was beginning to open to the sense of right and wrong, and she felt that she did not deserve them. Then came the sewing; and Lucy's heart sank as Cousin Debby opened the work-box. Strangely enough, however, she did not appear to miss the thimble, although the little satin-lined compartment where it belonged was plainly empty. "Now let me see how diligent you can be," said she, as she unfolded the little petticoat. "You have done this very neatly, Lucy,—as well as I could have done it myself. Aunt Bernard must have taken great pains with your needlework. There are very few girls of your age who can work so neatly. You see you have at least one thing for which to thank her." Lucy did not feel so very grateful at that moment; but she agreed to all Cousin Debby said, and took up her work, resolved to do her very best. She hoped Cousin Debby would go away and leave her to herself, as she did yesterday. But, instead of doing so, she sat down in the bow-window and occupied herself in darning some beautiful old lace. She told Lucy this lace had belonged to her grandmother and should some day be hers; and she related many interesting anecdotes of this same grandmother, and of other ladies, members of the Stanton and Corbet families, whose portraits hung in the long picture-gallery up-stairs. In spite of her trouble of mind, Lucy could not help being interested in these tales. And she was surprised, when the clock struck eleven, to find that she had come to the end of her work. "See, Cousin Deborah: is not this finished?" she asked, as she held it up for inspection. "It is finished, and very nicely, too," replied Cousin Deborah, taking the little garment out of her hand and looking it over. "I have found several other articles which will be useful to the poor woman. And after dinner, if it is fine, you shall go with Anne and carry them to her; afterwards you may ride as far as the village shop and buy me some needles and tape. Now go and play a little; and, when you hear the clock strike the half-hour, come in and get ready for dinner."