CHAPTER V.

THE LIAR DETECTED.

"I DIDN'T tell you the whole of my story last night," said Frank, as the next morning, Ellen, pale and sad, seated herself in the window to study her lesson. "Mr. Taylor is a real good teacher, though he is awfully strict. As soon as he found his pencil just where he had left it, he thought, I suppose, that he had suspected me without cause, or rather because I was silly enough to blush upon being asked a simple question.

"He took occasion to give the whole school a lecture on circumstantial evidence, and proved, by some good anecdotes, how unsafe a mode of judging it was. Why, some men have been hanged, being judged by circumstantial evidence; and afterwards they were found to be innocent. When he had done, he alluded to the pencil again, and said he had known some persons with such a tender conscience that the simple fact of their being questioned would cause them to show all the signs of guilt. I guess I blushed some then; for all the scholars smiled as they looked at me, and Mr. Taylor looked in my face and smiled too. So you see, I knew just how to pity you last night. But, of course, Mary is glad to give you paper and pens, too, whenever you want them."

"Oh, how I wish he would never speak another word about it!" thought Ellen, almost ready to cry again.

"Mary is a dear, good sister!" cried Frank, gayly, determined, if possible, to win a smile from his cousin before he left her.

"So she is!" was the earnest response. "She is just as kind to me as if she were my sister, too. But I must study my lesson now."

It took but one day for a letter from P— to reach the city, and one day for an answer to be returned; so that, when at the close of the third day, Ellen had received neither answer nor money, her anxiety and restlessness were almost more than she could endure. Her feverish appearance attracted the attention of her uncle. He called her to him to feel her pulse, ordered her to take a cup of weak tea and go to bed.

The next morning, however, all was explained. On his way to visit his first patient, he called at the post office and took out a letter to his wife from her brother-in-law, Mr. Saunders. There was something peculiar in the appearance of the envelope, and he hastily tore it open, hoping it enclosed a note for Ellen, which would bring back her old gayety: for the doctor was almost as much vexed as his wife at the sad change in their young guest.

The clerk who had noticed the postmark, and was interested in the result, saw the doctor change color and, after a brief glance at an enclosed paper, shut his lips firmly together, and leave the store.

When he was in his sulky, the doctor unfolded the letter again, when his eye fell upon a pencilled memorandum, "Abercrombie's Mental Philosophy, page 50, etc., etc."

"The girl is a liar, too," he muttered. "Here is the sheet Mary lost. Whew! Gibraltars, sticks of candy, lozenges, to the amount of five dollars. No wonder the child looks pale and has the headache. Well, what does her father say to such a bill?" He slackened his pace and read:

"MY DEAR SISTER,—The enclosed note came to hand yesterday morning. It was directed, as you see, to Aunt Clarissa, who would gladly have sent the money, and kept the knowledge of the letter from me. But I insisted on seeing it. I presume Ellen is not quite cured of her old habit of deceit, and has run up this bill without your knowledge. I enclose the amount, but wish you to do just as you think proper about paying it. The sight of the miserable, poorly spelled scrawl makes me blush for my daughter's ignorance.

"We all are well, though Joseph grows every day more wilful. What shall I do with the boy? It seems hard that I must deprive myself of the society of all my children, or see them growing up to be a curse to themselves, and to everybody who belongs to them.

"Your affectionate brother, "JOSEPH SAUNDERS."

"There is a document which will help you to solve a mystery," remarked Dr. Collins to his wife, about the middle of the forenoon.

"Poor child! I feared something of this," was the tearful reply, after the lady had slowly perused both the enclosed letters. "Oh, how my sister would have grieved over her! The lost memorandum too! Oh, Ellen! Cannot you learn to be frank and truthful?"

"From Mr. Saunders's note, I fear one lesson will not suffice for him. Did you notice what he said about his boy?"

"Yes," she answered, sighing. "His father's neglect and Aunt Clarissa's indulgence will prove his ruin."

"Well, about Ellen, I would make a serious matter of this want of confidence. The child has been unhappy no doubt, as she deserved to be; but I would not pay the money too readily."

"If there was any way in which she could earn it, the lesson would be more lasting," exclaimed Mrs. Collins, eagerly.

After her husband left, the lady retired to her chamber, where, upon her knees, she sought counsel of her heavenly Father in regard to this case of discipline. By this exercise, her own feelings were softened, so that when Ellen returned from school, she was able to receive her with affection, a mode of treatment which cut the penitent child to the heart.

Mrs. Collins still hoped that the young girl would confess her fault. Little did she suspect the dreadful struggle between conscience and pride which was going on in the breast of her niece; but after waiting until evening, she followed the child to her chamber, where she found her with her head resting on her arm, the tears trickling down her cheeks. Stooping tenderly forward, the lady said,—

"Ellen, as the child of my dear sister, I love you. It grieves me to see you so unhappy. Cannot you tell me frankly what has caused this sad change?"

"Don't speak so, aunt; it makes me cry more. If you would only be cross with me, I could bear it a great deal better; but I have been very wicked! I—I don't deserve to have you love me!"

"I know all about it, my poor child,—your letter to Aunt Clarissa, and all; but I would have you confess your fault."

Ellen sprang to her foot. "Has she sent me the money?" she almost screamed. "Oh, if she has, and I can but pay that hateful bill, I am sure I never shall be so wicked again."

"No, Ellen; she has not answered your letter; your father enclosed it in one to me."

The child's countenance fell again.

"I will advance you the money," rejoined her aunt, "and will accompany you to the store to pay your bill, on one condition,—that you promise me never to repeat this offence. Afterwards you can earn it and repay me."

"I have been too miserable ever to do so again," faltered the poor girl; "and Mary's paper too; did you know about that?"

"Yes, here it is. Now what shall I do? Cut off this pencilled slip at the top, and lay it in Mary's portfolio, where she will no doubt find it; or will you tell her frankly that you took it, and was betrayed into deceiving her?"

Ellen hesitated, cast down her eyes, blushing crimson, but presently exclaimed, "I will tell her; I feel so much happier already, now that you know it! Oh, aunt," throwing her arms about the lady's neck. "I do mean to try to be good! If I thought I could ever be like Mary!—It seems so easy for her to do right."

She drew a low stool to her aunt's feet, and there in her own impulsive manner gave an account of her temptation and of her sin,—how one lie led to many others until she found herself entangled in difficulties from which she saw no way of escape. Many tears showed how bitterly she had suffered; but the bright flush of pleasure with which, when she had ended, she said, "Now I have told you all, I am so happy!" encouraged Mrs. Collins to believe that having once learned the delight resulting from a frank confession of her fault, she would never be guilty of the like deception again.

"Does uncle know about it?" she asked, as her aunt tenderly parted her hair on her forehead.

"Yes; he brought me the letter. He will rejoice as sincerely as I do that we have found our own light-hearted Ellen, again."

"And Frank, has he heard it too?"

"Not a syllable. You shall do as you please about telling him."

She covered her face with her hands; there was a quick gasp, and then she said, firmly:

"Will you come with me now while I have courage?"

Frank's look of astonishment as Ellen, with burning cheeks, repeated her sad story was, perhaps, the severest punishment she had borne. From his cradle, he had been taught to despise a liar as too mean and cowardly to be endured; but when, with a burst of feeling, she ended with the words, "You know I had never been taught how wicked it was, till I came here," there was an instant revulsion of feeling, and with boyish enthusiasm, he exclaimed,—

"I'm real sorry for you, Nelly, but I think you're a trump after all to confess it now. I'm going to forget all about it right off; and we'll all help you to be a first-rate truthful girl. Wont we, Mary?"

"Yes, indeed!" said his sister, her lips quivering. "I love you, dear Ellen, better than ever; for I believe you are really penitent."

"Just as the good father did his prodigal son," said the humbled girl, smiling through her tears; "but do you know I took your paper too. You never can imagine how it pained me to tell you that lie. As soon as you spoke, I remembered seeing something written on the sheet; but I dared not say so; I was afraid. You see I didn't know then how much easier it would be to tell the truth right out."

"But you'll know after this," interrupted Frank. "The only way is if you've done wrong to get it off your mind at once."

Ellen laughed. "I haven't felt so well for a month," she said.

"You'll be lucky though, if father doesn't give you a dose of jalap, or castor oil to cure you of too much candy," added the boy, merrily.

"That wouldn't be half so bad as bearing this pain all alone;" and Ellen put her hand to her heart.

"Come with me, child," said her aunt, leading the way to her own chamber.