“I may have shut the door myself,” said the mother, “without knowing of the cat being in the place.” And, to turn the sailor’s mind from his loss, she continued, “I’m going up to the village, Jonas, and I’ve a very large basket to carry; Johnny’s just come off a long walk, or—”
“I’m your man!” cried the sailor; “I’ll help you with your load. Just wait a few minutes till I’ve buried this poor thing in the garden. I shouldn’t like the dogs to get at her—though she’s past feeling now, poor Tabby!” And as the stern, rough man stooped, raised his dead favourite, and carried it away, Alie thought that she saw something like moisture trembling in his eye.
“Alie,” said her mother, “go into that room, and carefully collect the broken pieces of the bottle which poor Tabby managed to knock off the shelf; and wash that part of the floor which is stained by the liquid: be attentive not to leave a drop of it anywhere; for the contents of the bottle was deadly poison, and I cannot be too thankful that the cat was the only sufferer.”
Alie obeyed with a very heavy heart. She was grieved at the death of Tabby, grieved at the vexation of her uncle—most grieved of all at the thought that she had not acted openly and conscientiously herself.
When she returned to the kitchen, she found Johnny its only occupant, her mother and uncle having set off for the village.
“I say, Alie,” cried Johnny, “wasn’t it lucky that uncle asked me instead of you about shutting the cat in? ’Twas you that closed the door, you know.”
“Oh, Johnny!” said his sister, “I feel so unhappy about it! I wish that I had told mother everything—I don’t think that I could have spoken to uncle. It seems just as if I were deceiving them both!”
“Nonsense!” cried Johnny, in a very loud tone; “you ought to be too happy that the storm has blown over!”
But the conscience of Alie would make itself heard, notwithstanding her brother’s voice of scorn. She had been accustomed from the time when she could first talk, to speak the simple truth, and the whole truth. She knew that there may be falsehood even in _silence_, when that silence tends to deceive. She felt that she had wronged her uncle, by destroying his property, and, however unintentionally, causing the death of his pet; and instead of frankly confessing the wrong, and asking pardon, she was concealing the matter. Alie went slowly up to her own little room, took down from its shelf her well-used Bible—that would be a safer counsellor than her brother! She opened it, and the first verse upon which her eyes rested was this, _The fear of man bringeth a snare: but whoso putteth his trust in the Lord shall be safe._ Alie closed her book, and resting her head upon her hand, sat and thought:—