“One day a pane of glass was broken in the green-house. It was Frank who had done it by accident, but he told a lie, and said he hadn’t. It was the first time he had ever told a lie, and it seemed a very little one, and he didn’t think much about it. But then after he had told one story he told another, and then another, and at last his mother found him out, and was so shocked and grieved about it that she sent him to school. “For a little while he seemed to do better; but by-and-by he began to tell little lies again to get out of trouble, and then he told big ones, and a wicked big boy found him out once in a great lie, and said he would tell of him if Frank would not help him in some wicked thing he wanted to do. So Frank promised he would, and the big boy led him into all sorts of dreadful mischief, and at last it got found out by the schoolmaster, and Frank was expelled.” “Oh!” ejaculated Violet, opening her eyes wide. “What did his mother say then?” “His mother never saw him,” answered Winifred gravely, “for he was afraid to go home; and he ran away to sea, and led a miserable, wicked life for a great many years, and never once wrote to tell his mother that he was alive, or what had become of him.” “How wicked!” “Yes, it was wicked; and it broke his mother’s heart; and when she could find out nothing about him, and months and years went by without any news, she grew weaker and weaker, and sadder and sadder, and by-and-by she died. Think, Vi, if he hadn’t told that little lie about the pane of glass, or any other _little_ lie, perhaps he might have grown up a good man.” “Is that the end of the story, Winnie?” “No, not quite; for by-and-by when he was a man he thought he would go back and see his mother again. He was poor, and miserable, and wicked, and he had been very ill, and he thought he would go back and try and be a good son if only his mother would forgive him. Well, he came back to England and went to his own village, and found that his mother was dead, and that she had died through his wicked conduct. Nobody knew Frank because he had changed so much, and nobody said a kind word to him. They did not know him, though he knew some of them. He was so desperate and miserable that he determined he would kill himself; and in the evening he crept down the village street to get to the river, and he meant to shoot himself there, and let his body fall into the water and be carried away.” “And did he?” asked Vi, in an awe-struck tone.