Mother's eyes had seen deeper than father's. Such an idea hadn't come to him. The words seemed to take my breath, for I didn't know what to say. I remembered again that I had to shelter Mr. Russell, and I saw that if I went on crying like this, I should not be able. People would begin to suspect. She didn't put the question again, but waited, standing quiet, and I dried my eyes and tried to be more cheerful. "If only father wouldn't have a policeman!" I said. "It does seem so horrid—a policeman hunting all over our rooms. And I don't believe it'll do any good." "You nor I can't judge of that," mother said. "If father was to speak to people, and advertise," I said—feeling that I must talk, or mother would ask again the question I hadn't answered. "Advertise for the thief to bring back stolen goods!" Mother gave a little laugh. "Kitty, have you taken leave of your senses?" says she. "I do hate the thought of a policeman coming," I said. "Maybe it's not what we would have chosen," said she. "But if I'm willing, you needn't worry. Don't you think father knows best how to manage?" We didn't go on talking, and mother let alone the question she had put; but I knew she hadn't forgotten it. At family prayers that evening father read the chapter in Acts about Ananias and Sapphira: not by choice, for it came in regular order. I couldn't help shivering as I listened; and when we got up from prayers, father said— "That's a fearful chapter, isn't it? I always think so, every time I read it. Shows so plain what God thinks of untruth. And it wasn't even as if Ananias had told a downright outspoken lie. It was just shuffling and deceiving." I thought over those words of father's, lying in bed, and pictured the awful end of husband and wife, struck dead in the very act and word of falsehood. I couldn't bear to remember the untruths I had already been led into, and I made up my mind that I would not say another word that wasn't true. I would only refuse to answer, and take the consequences. But it is no easy matter, if one steps down into evil, to keep one's self from going farther than just a certain point. The policeman came next morning: a tall man, with a grave face, almost as sparing of his words as mother. He listened to the whole story from father, and then he went upstairs to see my room, paying particular attention to the way of getting there. He looked into the drawer where I had always kept the watch, and made mother turn everything out that was in it; and then he examined the other drawers, as if to make sure that I hadn't slipped it in elsewhere by mistake. He put a question now and then to mother by the way, and I waited in a fright, knowing my turn must come soon, as indeed it did. "Quite sure you always kept the watch and chain in this drawer?" says he at last, looking at me. "Yes," I said, under my breath. "Speak out, Kitty. Don't be afraid," says father. "And the drawer wasn't locked?" says the policeman. "No." "Never?"