"My son!" said the latter, "I would rather have you die in your
innocent boyhood than grow up a _liar_! Tell the straight, simple
truth always and everywhere. No brave man will lie. Papa does not want
his boy to be a coward. No honest man will deceive or tell a
falsehood. Papa does not want his boy to be a cheat!"
Mrs. Wilcox sat down on the bed when her husband had gone. All the
mother-heart in her was crying out and tearing itself with longing and
pity ineffable. Arms and heart ached to enfold the precious little
sinner so grievously worsted in the battle with temptation. "Mamma is
very sorry that her darling has been so naughty!" she said, bowing her
head upon the pillow beside the mat of curls dampened by the rain from
the culprit's eyes.
"Mamma! Indeed, I will _never_ tell another lie--not the leastest
fib!" he sobbed.
"God help you to keep your word, my son. Every falsehood is like a
drop of ink upon snow to your soul!"
She stroked back his hair and comforted herself by giving him, one
after another, the passionate kisses withheld through all these
miserable hours. Holding the chubby fingers in hers, she talked to him
a few minutes longer of his sin, and to whom he should look for
forgiveness; then bending over him, she prayed in simple words and few
for the little one who had stumbled to his own hurt.
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