I could not see why he should fear. Father had taken to him from the first; and if mother didn't do that, at least she never snubbed him, which was, I suppose, because of his trouble about Mary, for mother could snub, and no mistake! But why should he not go to them, and say plain out that he wanted me? That was the question. He had not so much as asked whether I cared for him! I could have been vexed to remember this, if only I had cared for him less. He seemed so sure that he only had to ask me, and I would jump at it. At least he had only said, "Suppose," in a way that mightn't mean anything. And I was not to tell a word to my father or mother. That was hard. I had never had a regular secret from them before; and I was so used to speaking out. It didn't feel natural to have to hold my tongue. But I had promised! I had said I wouldn't tell! And I had been brought up to think a deal of keeping my word. Many a time mother had said to me, "Mind you, Kitty, a promise is a promise! Don't you ever make one lightly; and when it is made, don't you ever break it lightly." Right enough too. To my mind there's judgment on the breaking of a promise; no matter how small a one. It's "least said, soonest mended," in the matter of promises, as well as in most other things. A promise once given can't be taken back, without the consent of the person it's given to; and a broken promise can't be mended. I can remember once, when I was a little child, mother was away for the whole day, and she promised to bring me a packet of pink candy. Somebody said to me, "Oh, you mustn't count on that; she's pretty sure to forget!" And I stamped my foot, and said, "Mother won't forget! Mother always keeps her promise!" Well, and I was in the right. She kept her promise, and brought the candy. But she did forget for a while; for there was an accident, which upset her, and drove it out of her head. On the way home she recollected. Some would have said, "Oh, it's too late now! It can't be helped, and Kitty must wait!" But mother wasn't that sort. She went near a mile back to the only shop where the pink candy could be got; and we all wondered what was making her so late. If she hadn't! Well, of course, she could have said she had forgot, and she was sorry. You don't think, though, do you, that I should ever have felt so certain sure again, when she promised? I should always have thought, she might forget! Ah! mother was a rare one. There's not many like her. She wasn't overmuch given to promises at any time; but once she did promise, she'd do it. And I had promised Mr. Russell not to tell. I had promised lightly—that's to say, without weighing it first. Was I to break the promise lightly? Something whispered to me, as I went back, dropping into a slow walk—something whispered, "Tell out plain to Mr. Russell that the promise was wrong, and that you can't keep it."