"He'll be bound to do that," father said. "The more he asks, the better, so as he finds the watch. Why, Kitty, what's come over you to-day?" "I shan't be able to answer him—I know I shan't," I said. "I shall be so—so—" "So what?" says father. "So frightened," I said. "O father, don't—please don't send for a policeman." "One would think the child had made away with the watch herself," father said; and all this time mother stood watching us in her silent way, "I declare I wouldn't have believed you hadn't more sense, Kitty. Frightened at a policeman! I never heard of such a thing." Then he patted my cheek again, and gave it a kiss. "Come, come, Kitty, you've cried enough for one day," says he. "We won't have any more nonsense. It's a trouble losing the watch, no doubt about that; but we don't blame our Kitty. Somebody's managed to steal in, and to walk off with it, and we've got to find that somebody. I shall send for a policeman, of course: why shouldn't I? The thief isn't going to get off so easy, I can tell him! It wouldn't be right for me not to act; and what's more, it wouldn't be right for the sake of other people. And as for the policeman's questions, you just take your time, and answer him slow, and don't get into a flurry. Take care you tell him the very exact truth, and not a word more nor less. That's all you've got to do, and then you'll have no call to be frightened." But to tell "the very exact truth, and not a word more nor less," was the trouble; for there was my promise to Mr. Russell; and more than the promise, there was my wish to shield him from blame. More than the promise, I say; for if it came to a question of breaking that, promise, or telling a lot of other lies, I'm sure I should have done best in breaking that promise. One crooked step had landed me where a straight step was hardly possible, and the quickest way out of the coil was the wisest. But I couldn't bear to think of bringing blame to him. It's hard to say, in such a coil, what one ought or ought not to do. Only, there's no doubt I had given a promise which I had no right to give; and my father and mother had a right to hear the whole. All the same, it's a terrible thing to break through one's pledged word. I've learnt from those days how slow folks ought to be to pledge their word, and how wrong hasty promises are. "Least said, soonest mended," you know. Father went away, leaving me in tears, and mother came to the table. She didn't speak at first. She had such a fashion of weighing her words. I remember how she smoothed the tablecloth, and put straight one or two books on it that had gut awry. Then all of a sudden she said— "Kitty, are you hiding anything from us about the watch?"