CHAPTER IV.

ANOTHER LIE.

"WE'VE been in to Mrs. Monroe's to see Ernest," said Mrs. Drake, when she was seated at the supper-table. "He looks as if he had lost a good deal of blood."

"Well, the young rascal deserves to suffer; it may save him from the gallows."

Henry shuddered, but did not speak.

"What do you mean?" inquired his wife.

"Mean!" he repeated the words in an angry tone. "Why, if it has come to this, that my pockets are picked, my trunks unlocked, and my tools ruined by a scamp of a boy, it's time something was done about it,—that's all! If I caught my boy in such tricks, I'd whip him within an inch of his life."

Henry's eyes were fastened, on his plate. If he had ever had an idea of confessing that he, instead of his cousin, was the guilty boy, it vanished at once.

When he had finished his supper, his mother told him that Ernest wished to see him. When he had left the room, she said,—

"I do wish, John, you wouldn't talk so strong. Don't you see that if Henry were to disobey you, he wouldn't dare to tell you of it. It seems to me, parents ought to show their children that if they are really penitent, they will be forgiven."

"I don't know what you're driving at, wife; but if it's anything about the tools, you may stop hinting. Just as soon as Ernest is out of bed. I'll haul him over the coals as sure as my name is John Drake. I never forgive, as you have learned long ago."

"Don't you remember the verse, that Maria repeated at the concert, which the minister explained so beautifully? 'If ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you; but if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father in heaven forgive your trespasses.'"

Knocking the ashes out of his pipe, Mr. Drake went out without answering.

His wife, with a heavy heart, began to collect the plates, when Henry burst into the room.

His cheeks burned like fire, and he was evidently excited; but as he volunteered no explanation, his mother, after a glance at him, went on with her work.

The truth is that both his Aunt Jane and Ernest had been urging him to tell his father what he had done. At first, he tried to hide his confusion by more lies, repeating the story he had told his father about finding the chest open. But Ernest exclaimed with such evident horror,—"O Henry! You told me you found the key in his pants' pocket," that he found it was no use to go on.

"If you don't tell, I'm afraid I must," said his aunt, firmly. "Ernest shall not suffer from your fault. It was very wrong of him to touch the tools when he knew that his uncle had forbidden it. If the adze is injured, he must take his spending money, and buy a new one. I'm afraid Henry, you don't realize what a wicked thing it is to tell a lie."

"I'm sorry I ever touched the old chest," exclaimed Henry, in a passionate tone. "I wouldn't if Ernest hadn't teased me to. I never should have thought of hunting up the key if he hadn't put it into my head."

"Stop, Henry; you are only adding sin to sin. The Bible says: 'All liars shall have their portion in the lake that burns with fire and brimstone.' If you are afraid to confess on account of your father's anger, why do you not fear the wrath of God, who knows every thought of your heart?"

Henry went to bed that night feeling that, turn which way he would, he was in trouble.

"If I tell father," he said to himself, "he'll half kill me; and if I don't, he'll find it out by Aunt Jane; and there 'll be a dreadful row."

The good Spirit whispered to him,—

"You have sinned. Confess your fault, and accept the punishment you deserve. Your heart will then be at rest."

But Henry would not listen to the good Spirit. He said to himself,—

"If I stick to my lie, he'll believe me sooner than he will Ernest; 'cause when he once gets an idea in his head, he wont give it up nohow. He thinks Ernest did it, and I—guess—I'll—let—him—think—so."