"She encouraged him so long as she thought well of him. A closer view revealed points of character hidden by distance. When she saw these, her feelings were already deeply involved. But, like a true woman, she turned from the proffered hand, even though, while in doing so, her heart palpitated with pain. There is nothing false about Mary Lane. She could no more trifle with a lover than she could commit a crime. Think, then, how almost impossible it would be for her to hear herself called, under existing circumstances, even in sport, a jilt, without being hurt. Words sometimes have power to hurt more than blows. Do you not see this now, aunt Rachel?" "Oh, yes, yes. I see it; and I saw it before," said the old lady. "And, in future, I will be more careful of my words. It is pretty late in life to learn this lesson--but we are never too late to learn. Poor Mary! It grieves me to think that I should have hurt her so much." Yes, words often have in them a smarting force, and we cannot be too guarded how we use them. "Think twice before you speak once," is a trite, but wise saying. We teach it to our children very carefully, but are too apt to forget that it has not lost its application to ourselves. CHAPTER XXIV. MAY BE SO. "NEXT time you go out, you'll buy me a wagon, won't you, mother?" said my little boy to me, one day. I didn't want to say "no," and destroy his happy feelings; and I was not prepared to say "yes;" and so I gave the evasive reply so often used under such circumstances, "May be so," and which was meant rather as a negative than an affirmative. The child was satisfied; for he gave my words the meaning he wished them to have. In a little while after, I had forgotten all about it. Not so my boy. To him the "May be so" was "yes," and he set his heart, confidently, on receiving the wagon the next time I should go out. This happened on the afternoon of that very day. It was towards evening when I returned. The moment I rung the bell at my own door, I heard his pattering feet and gleeful voice in the entry. "Where's my wagon?" said he, as I entered, a shade of disappointment falling suddenly upon his excited, happy face. "What wagon, dear?" I asked. "My wagon. The wagon you promised to buy me." "I didn't promise to buy a wagon, my son." "Oh, yes you did, mother! You promised me this morning." Tears were already in his eye, and his face wore a look of distressing disappointment. "I promised to buy you a wagon? I am sure I remember nothing about it," I replied confidently. "What in the world put that into your head?" "Didn't I ask you?" said the child, the tears now overflowing his cheeks. "Yes, I believe you did ask me something about a wagon; but I didn't promise to buy you one." "Oh, yes you did, mother. You said may be so." "But 'may be so' doesn't mean yes."