"Where are you going, Cousin Deborah?" Lucy ventured to ask, as she saw her cousin putting up her own work. "I am going to my room for a while. Now run away and play." Lucy was glad to hear that her cousin was going to her room. It was upon the other side of the house, and quite away from the terrace. And Lucy resolved that she would improve the opportunity and spend the half-hour in one more hunt for the thimble. But in vain did she search under the leaves of the broad-leaved aloe, scratching her hands sadly with the sharp thorns. Her thimble was clearly not there. "How did you scratch your hands so, my dear?" asked Cousin Deborah, when Lucy came down to dinner. "I was looking at a bird's nest in the holly-bush, Cousin Debby," replied Lucy, in a low voice. "You are quite sure you have not been at the gooseberry-bushes, Lucy?" "Yes, ma'am. I have not been near them." Lucy was telling the truth this time, and spoke in tolerably steady tones but her conscience reproached her at the very moment, for she knew she had told another lie, in spite of all her resolutions. The rapid multiplication of lies has long been proverbial. People in those days dined early: so that twelve was a fashionable hour. It was not quite noon when Cousin Debby and Lucy sat down to dinner. Lucy had all her life been limited and scrimped as to her food. Aunt Bernard's housekeeping was far from liberal, at the best. True, she had always some sort of meat for dinner; but of this Lucy seldom got more than a very small taste, and right glad was she to be helped to enough of the batter-pudding, or dumpling cooked with the meat, to stay her hunger. Of tart, pudding, or any thing of that sort, she never tasted save by stealth when Margery or Anne would smuggle away a bit for her. But Cousin Debby had very different notions. She helped Lucy liberally to the excellent roast-beef, and afterwards gave her a whole custard. Nor did she season these dainties with constant reproofs, or count every mouthful and accuse the child of gluttony because she had a good appetite. On the contrary, she smiled to see Lucy's plate emptied the second time, and said she was glad to see her enjoy her dinner. "Think, Lucy, who it is that has given you all these good things," said Cousin Deborah, "and then your returning thanks will not be mere empty, formal words." As Lucy stood up and repeated her "grace after meat," a good old custom which seems to have gone quite out of fashion, she thought, "He gave me this nice dinner, too. I do wish I could be good, when he is so good to me!"