There was a large old-fashioned mahogany table on one side of this room, which Mrs. March used for cutting out work, and which the children liked better than any thing in the room. It had droll twisted legs which ended in knobs and castors, and it had big leaves fastened on with brass hinges which opened and shut; when these leaves were open the table was so big that both Rob and Nelly could be up on it at once, and have plenty of room for their things. This morning their mother had let them open it out to its full size, and push it close up in one corner of the room, so that the walls made a fine back for them to lean against. Nelly sat on one side, with all her dolls ranged in a row against the wall, Mrs. Napoleon at the head. In front of her, she had all their clothes in one great pile, and was sorting and arranging them in the little bureau and trunk and boxes in which she kept them. Rob sat opposite her with his feet on a blanket shawl, so that they would not scratch the mahogany; he was reading the "Cliff Climbers," and every few minutes he would break out with:-- "This is the most splendid story of all yet." "Nell, look at this picture of them going up over the cliff by ropes. Oh, don't I just wish I could go to some such place!" [Illustration: Nelly sat on one side with all her dolls ranged in a row against the wall. _Page 20_] After a while, Nelly leaned her head back against the wall, and stopped playing with her dolls. She looked at the snow-storm outside, and the bright fire in the grate, and exclaimed, "Oh, mamma! isn't it nice here?" There was something in Nelly's tone which made her mother look up surprised. "Why, yes, dear; of course it is nice here; it is always nice here; what made you think of it just now?" Nelly March was one of the honestest little girls that ever lived. Nothing seemed to her so dreadful as a lie; but she came very near telling one now. "I don't know, mamma," she said; but, almost before the words were out of her mouth, she added:-- "Yes, I do know, too; I meant I didn't want to tell." "Why not? my little daughter," said Mrs. March, looking much puzzled. "Surely it cannot be any thing you do not want mamma to know." "Oh, no, mamma! it is something you didn't want me to know," said Nelly hastily, turning very red. "Something I didn't want you to know, Nell," she said. "What do you mean? And how did you know it then?" "She listened, she listened," cried Rob, throwing down his book, "and she wouldn't tell me a thing either, and she was real mean." The tears came into Nelly's eyes, and Mrs. March looked very sternly at Rob. "Rob," she said, "telling tales is as mean as listening: I'm ashamed of you. Nell, what does he mean?" Poor Nelly was almost crying. "Indeed, mamma," she exclaimed, "I didn't listen; and I told Rob then I didn't; he's told a lie, a wicked lie, and he ought to be punished, mamma; he knows it's a lie."