CHAPTER II.

HENRY'S LIE.

IT was nearly noon when she heard a sound of voices in the bedroom. She wondered who could have gone there without her knowledge, and stopped outside the door to listen.

The visitor was Henry, and he was saying angrily,—

"No, you sha'n't. You promised certain true, black and blue, you wouldn't tell anybody. If Aunt Jane knows it, she'll tell father; and he'll half kill me. He's awful angry now."

"But, Henry," urged Ernest half crying, "he'll think I stole the key out of his pocket; and I didn't. It's too bad, if I have to have my fingers cut, and bear all the blame, too, when you did it. My cut smarts awfully."

Mrs. Monroe now made a noise to let them know she was near, and then opened the door, just in season to see Henry raise the window, and jump out.

"Ah!" said the lady to herself. "That's the way he came in without my seeing him."

"Have you been awake long, Ernest?" asked his mother.

"Henry waked me, getting in through the window. I wish he'd stayed away. He's made my head ache so."

"I've made you some milk porridge, dear; I'll bring you a cupful; and then perhaps you'll fall asleep again. I'll lock the window this time."

Ernest drank his favorite porridge; but he could not sleep. Henry's words were constantly recurring to his mind. "If you tell, father 'll half kill me. He's awful angry now."

Ernest was a timid boy, not tough and hearty, like his cousin, but feeble from his infancy; "only raised to the age of eleven years," as the doctor said, "by the unwearied nursing of a good mother."

Ernest had a great dread of his uncle's rough word's and hot temper, very different from the manners of his own parents. One time and another, from being a constant companion of his cousin, he had experienced a good deal of harsh treatment from the carpenter. Now he lay, tossing and turning his head on the pillow, thinking of Henry's words, wondering whether he could be induced to confess, and dreading his uncle's wrath.

At noon, when his father, who was a clock-maker, came home to his dinner, after hearing the story from his wife, he found his son's face burning with fever.

"O pa!" exclaimed the boy. "I'm so glad you've come. Is it ever right to break a promise?"

"That depends, my boy, on what kind of a promise it is. Suppose I, to escape an assassin, should promise a wicked man that I would help him murder his neighbor; ought I therefore to keep the promise?"

Ernest shook his head thoughtfully.

"Then, again," added Mr. Monroe, "if a boy were placed so that he were obliged to promise to do what he did not approve, to save his life, for instance, I think such a promise ought not to be binding."

"But suppose, pa, that a boy forgot, and promised he wouldn't tell something, when he had promised before that he would tell his mother everything he did; what would God want him to do?"

"You needn't worry yourself about that, Ernest," said his mother, coming into the room. "I know all you want to tell me; I know that Henry stole from his father's pocket the key of the tool chest and opened it."

"Did Henry tell you! Oh, I'm so glad!"

"I can't say how I learned it; but you may rest about your uncle's displeasure."

Ernest burst out crying.

"I was afraid Henry 'd make him think I did it; and he'd whip me, I know he would. He don't know what he's doing when he gets angry."

"If he dares to lay a finger on you," exclaimed the father, rising, "I'll have the law on him."

"Hush," said Mrs. Monroe, soothingly; "there is no danger; your fever has excited you, Ernest, and you must have some drops. How should you like to have me bring my work, and sit here this afternoon? Or perhaps I'll tell you a story."

"I'd like it first-rate."

"Well, I'll hurry and get through with my work. Do you want a piece of custard pie?"

"I don't want to eat anything, my head aches so."