"Lie still and
think it all over, dear!" was her parting injunction.
At the tea-table, Robby was not disposed to talk. He noted and
understood the grave gentleness of his father's countenance and
demeanor; the chastened loveliness of his mother's look; the quiet
tone caught by the other children from the grown-up sister who sat
next to him. His transgression had affected the spirits of the whole
party. The very avoidance of all direct reference to it was
significant and impressive. It was something too disgraceful for
table-talk. A blackened soul! soiled lips! These were the figures most
distinct to his imagination as he crept after supper into the library,
and sat down at the alcoved window looking upon a side street. The
boys were playing noisily in the warm twilight. Robby watched them,
curled up on the window bench, one foot tucked under him, his face
more sober each minute. He was sure his mother would shake her head
sadly were he to request permission to join the joyous group of his
fellows. Nor did he care--very much--to go out. The recollection of
sin and consequent suffering was too fresh.
Nettie, the grown-up sister, had a visitor, and mamma had joined the
girls, and was chatting cheerfully with them--not at all as she
looked at the cowering little liar under the counterpane up-stairs.
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