Part 2 (1/2)

”What is the matter?” said her father.

”Nothing, father,” said Alice, ”only a little headache; mother has tied my hair too tight.”

”Loosen it,” said her father.

Alice did loosen it, so that the string was just ready to come off.

When she arrived at her aunt's, where her father left her, I was just escaping from my hateful confinement, and her aunt took hold of the hair as the string fell on the floor.

”Shall I tie it on again, Alice, or shall your pretty hair go just so? I don't see the use of tying it, but, if you really wish it, my dear, just step up stairs, and Jane will do it for you very nicely.

Perhaps your mother would choose it to be tied; she is very particular. It is a pity to confine such beautiful curls, but, if it must be so, we can't help it. Will you go up stairs? Here is the string; it dropped on the floor.”

”No,” said Alice, ”it is of no consequence;” and she put the string into her pocket.

Again I fell upon her beautiful forehead, and kissed her rosy cheeks; and every one admired my beauty.

Alice tried to forget that she was breaking her promise, and enjoyed herself pretty well.

When she went home, her mother said, ”Why, Alice, your hair is all over your face; how comes that?”

”The string was nearly off when I went in, and then it fell on the floor, and aunt said I looked better without it. Here is the string, which she picked up.”

”I should have thought your aunt would have let you go up to Jane, and have it tied properly; you should have asked her leave.”

”I suppose,” said the father, ”that Alice felt too shy. It is no matter for one day. Alice, I dare say, kept her promise as well as she could; and, next week, she shall have her box; a right pretty one it is.”

Alice kissed her father and mother, and went to bed; but there was a little cloud between her and the all-pure Being to whom she prayed that night, and her precious tears wetted my locks, ere she went to sleep.

Alice felt that she had not been true to her promise, and her parents' entire trust was the most severe reproach. Still she could not quite make up her mind to say so; and she tried not to think so.

She had set her heart upon the little work box made and ornamented by her father whom she loved dearly. One day after another pa.s.sed away, and every day it became harder to confess her fault. How often I heard her sigh during these days! Nothing makes a perfectly light heart but entire uprightness.

One day, her father called her to him, and said, ”Come, Alice, and tell me which color I shall use to ornament the border of your box--blue or green?”

”Just which you please, Father.”

”But you know it is for you, and I want to know what you like best.”

”If it should ever be mine, Father, I like blue best.”

”Blue it shall be,” said her father. ”It will be finished to-morrow, and then your month for keeping your hair tied will end. I think your eyes are better, and you have learned also that you can keep a promise. You are my good child.”

Alice could not speak. She ran out of doors into her garden where her father had made her a little arbor, and there, all alone, she struggled with herself, till courage and truth prevailed. Then she went back into her father's study where she found him still at work on her box.

”Almost done, Alice,” said he; ”see how pretty it is.” ”It must not be mine, Father,” said Alice, very quietly, for she was determined to command herself. ”I have not kept my promise, Father. I have deceived you and mother. I don't deserve the box. Give it to my cousin.” Then she told her father the whole story, just as it was.

As she went on, she grew braver, and felt happier; so that she was able to look up into her father's face, and say, very calmly, ”I could not take any pleasure in your pretty box, for I know I do not deserve it. Please, dear Father, to tell Mother all about it, and put away the box, if you choose not to give it to some one else. It is very pretty, but it is not to be my box.”

The tears began to come in her eyes, and she turned to go out of the room. Her father stopped her. ”Come here, my Child,” he said. ”You did wrong, but you have done all you could to repair your fault. You will never again, I think, be guilty of falsehood. At the end of another month, if you feel sure of yourself, come to me for your box.”

”No, Father, that would seem like being paid for speaking the truth.