"Which they certainly will do," I continued. Turning to my wife and Aunt Martha, "As you have heard this fine story, I think it is time for you to retire." "I do not wish to retire," promptly returned Aunt Martha. "I was never more awake in my life, and couldn't go asleep if I tried. What we have heard may or may not be true, but it furnishes subjects for reflection--serious reflection. I wish very much to hear what that man in the middle of the bench has to say for himself; I am sure he has a story." "Yes, ma'am," said the stout man, with animation, "I've got one, and I'd like nothin' better than to tell it to you if you'll give me a little somethin' to wet my lips with--a little beer, or whiskey and water, or anything you have convenient." "Whiskey and water!" said Aunt Martha with severity. "I should think not. It seems to me you have had all the intoxicating liquors in this house that you would want." "But I don't think you're the kind of person who'd doctor the liquor. This is the first gentleman's house where I ever found anything of that kind." "The worse for the gentleman," I remarked. The man grunted. "Well, ma'am," he said, "call it anything you please--milk, cider, or, if you have nothin' else, I'll take water. I can't talk without somethin' soaky." My wife rose. "If we are to listen to another story," she said, "I want something to keep up my strength. I shall go into the dining-room and make some tea, and Aunt Martha can give these men some of that if she likes." The ladies now left the room, followed by Alice. Presently they called me, and, leaving the burglars in charge of the vigilant David, I went to them. I found them making tea. "I have been upstairs to see if George William is all right, and now I want you to tell me what you think of that man's story," said my wife. "I don't think it a story at all," said I. "I call it a lie. A story is a relation which purports to be fiction, no matter how much like truth it may be, and is intended to be received as fiction. A lie is a false statement made with the intention to deceive, and that is what I believe we have heard to-night." "I agree with you exactly," said my wife. "It may be," said Aunt Martha, "that the man's story is true. There are some things about it which make me think so; but if he is really a criminal he must have had trials and temptations which led him into his present mode of life. We should consider that." "I have been studying him," I said, "and I think he is a born rascal, who ought to have been hung long ago." My aunt looked at me. "John," she said, "if you believe people are born criminals, they ought to be executed in their infancy. It could be done painlessly by electricity, and society would be the gainer, although you lawyers would be the losers. But I do not believe in your doctrine. If the children of the poor were properly brought up and educated, fewer of them would grow to be criminals."