But I was not destined to leave Tre Madoc Court without a more serious trouble, which trouble could never have fallen upon me but for my own want of frankness, and that double-mindedness which was always my bane. I mentioned that my Aunt Jem had given me as a parting present a book of plays and poems, and that I had never showed this book to my mother. In truth, my first concealment had arisen rather from timidity and embarrassment than from wilful deception. I did not quite know what to do with the book, not liking to refuse it for fear of hurting Aunt Jem, of whom I was very fond, and I felt quite sure maman would not let me keep it, if she knew. Of course the straight road would have been, as it ever is, the right one, but I took that middle way of compromise, which is never the right one, as I may say, and put the book at the bottom of my mail, with a half resolve to show it to my mother at the first opportunity. But in truth, in the surprise and joy of meeting Simon and Jeanne and the excitement of travelling and settling in our new home, I quite forgot it. When I came to unpack my mail I found it. Betty was in the room, and asked what it was, and I told her its history. "Have you not read it?" she asked, seizing and opening it. "It looks delightful." "No, I have not read it, and shall not till I show it to maman," I answered. "Then let me have it—do!" said Betty, turning it over with eager interest. "Or we will read it together. I am sure Aunt Jem would not give you a wicked book, though she may not be so strait-laced as my Aunt Margaret. Come, let us read it together. Your things are all put away, and my aunt is with my mother in the still-room, so she will not want you. Let us sit down in the window and read." "I did not know Betty as well then as I came to know her afterward, and I really had some curiosity about the book, which was partly writ by that Mr. Dryden, who hath since made a great noise in the world. The first poem was certainly very beautiful, and innocent enough, so far as I understood it. The next was a play. "Indeed I cannot read any more, Betty," said I; "and you ought not either, till you ask your mother." "Well, let me take the book, then," said Betty. "I will not hurt it, and I don't believe it will hurt me." I refused plumply, but at that moment my mother called me to come and see some curious ware which she had found in looking over the house with my aunt. When I returned Betty had taken away the book, and I could not get it of her again, though I had more than once asked her for it. It was now returned on my hands, with a witness.