There was a tear in Mabel's eye that softened the severity of her tone, and sitting down by her, she said, more quietly-- "Amy, love, in that little action, I saw enough to make me indignant, and more to make me sorry; for if you do not get rid of that deceit, which has led you wrong now, it will go on, leading you into worse errors, and how can I take care of you if I am not certain you are speaking the truth. Falsehood is the beginning of all sin; and you will learn to deceive me; and when I think my darling is all I wish her, I shall discover something hidden and sinful, that will tell me I am wrong. Oh, I am so vexed." "Forgive me--oh, do say you forgive me?" cried the punished child. "Have I the power to forgive what is sinful?" said Mabel, kissing her affectionately. Amy understood, and running to the chamber where they both slept, she fell upon her knees, and clasped her little hands in prayer. A child's repentance is not very long, and Amy soon returned, her countenance meek and subdued, and looked timidly at her sister. "Now then, Amy," said Mabel, "prepare yourself for a difficult duty--come and tell John all you have done." Amy hesitated and trembled. "He will be so cross," said she, entreatingly. "Very likely; but you are not a coward now--you are not afraid to do right. It is difficult, I know, for John will not understand what you feel, and may remember it for a long time; but still you will come." Amy gave her trembling hand to her sister, and, with a very blank countenance, accompanied her in search of John. They had to go all over the garden; but found him, at length, standing disconsolate by the peach-tree. "John," said Amy. "Yes, miss," replied the old man, gloomily, and half angrily. "John," she continued, "I touched the peach, and that was why it fell down." He looked too amazed to answer. "I am very, very sorry--will you forgive me for telling a falsehood?" murmured Amy, beseechingly. John looked still very surprised and angry. "Miss Amy," he began, "I could not have thought you--" "But forgive her this time," interposed Mabel, "she is very sorry, and it has been a hard struggle to come and tell you how very wrong she has been." "Bless you, miss," answered the old gardener, quickly, "you are your own father's child, and I know how much you must have suffered when you found any kindred of your'n a telling lies. But I forgive you, Miss Amy, and never you do wrong like that again. Bless you, Miss Mabel, for you be leading the dear young lady in the right path, as well as walking in it yourself." CHAPTER III. Love not, love not, the thing you love may change.