"No, she hasn't!" cried Gracie indignantly; then hastily correcting
herself, "except that she said she wanted me to stay here alone for a
while. So you must go and leave me."
"I won't till you tell me what it was all about. What did you do? or was
it something you didn't do?"
"I don't want to tell you, 'cause you wouldn't ever do such a wicked
thing, and you--you'd despise me if you knew I'd done it," sobbed Gracie.
"No, I wouldn't. You are better than I am. Papa said I was worse than you
and Max both put together. So you needn't mind my knowing."
"I meddled and broke mamma's pretty bottle that her dead father gave her;
but she didn't scold me for that; not a bit; but--but 'cause I tried to
put the blame on puss, and--and said I--I never touched her things when
she wasn't here."
"O Gracie, that _was_ wicked! to say what wasn't true! I think papa would
have whipped you, for I've heard him say if there was anything he would
punish severely in one of his children, it was falsehood. But don't cry
so. I'm sure you're sorry and won't ever do it again."
"No, no! never, never! Mamma hugged me up in her arms and cried hard
'cause I'd been so wicked.
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