"I cannot be always sure that you are speaking the truth. I cannot feel
certain that you will obey me when my back is turned. That is a sad
state of things, and it makes me unhappy to have to say all this." Aunt
Judith really did look unhappy. "But you have brought it on yourself.
And it will rest now entirely with yourself to show me how soon you may
be trusted."
She went out of the room, and Jock huddled in a corner of the
window-seat feeling pretty well at an end of his courage. It was too
horrid to be told that he could not be trusted. He felt as if he quite
hated Aunt Judith and Mousie, and it did not comfort him even to think
how Captain Royle had said that he must bear his punishment like a man.
Jock was certain that no man could take this punishment nicely. No, not
even an officer in His Majesty's Army.
Darkness was falling when the door-handle rattled gently, and Grannie
slipped in, her soft silk gown swishing after a manner of its own.
"My poor little Jock!" was all she said.
And in a moment Jock was in her arms, clinging hard, with his face
against her shoulder, yet still determined not to cry.
"Dear little Jock! My own little Jock," she whispered. "How did it come
about, my pet?"
Jock's whole frame was heaving with the struggle to keep down his sobs,
and he said nothing, only nestled more closely into that comforting
clasp, and she fondled him lovingly.
"You won't do it again, will you? No, I know—I am sure you never meant
to say what wasn't true; only there was some mistake, perhaps. But
you won't again. And you will take care to keep within bounds, like a
darling. And you won't worry poor Aunt Judith. Oh no, don't say that—"
as Jock gulped out something about—"didn't care if she was worried."
Mrs. Baynes stroked his hair. "You are such a kind little boy, I know
you don't wish to worry anybody. And I am certain you won't disobey
again. And then things will come right, and we shall all forget
about to-day. And you will say your prayers presently, and ask to be
forgiven—won't you? It wasn't all quite perfectly right, was it, my
pet?"
Jock said "No—" But added—"'She' wasn't right neither. I think Aunt
Judith ought to say 'her' prayers. She didn't ought to say I'd told a
lie."
"It was very hard to bear, if you knew you had not—yes, of course, I
see that. But things were just a little difficult, and you wouldn't
explain—'couldn't'—was that it? And so she really did feel sure. But
I do hope she may have made a mistake, and so things were not exactly
as she thought. We all make mistakes sometimes, you know—you and I do,
too. You must not go to bed feeling angry and bitter about her."
"P'raps I'd better stay up, Grannie," Jock quite seriously suggested.
"I don't think that would be a good plan. You would be so very tired.
And it would be just as bad to sit up, feeling bitter and unforgiving,
as to go to bed. The Bible tells us we are not to 'let the sun go down
on our wrath'—even when it is a right kind of wrath. And the sun will
soon be going down."
"I don't like Aunt Judith."
"But you have to like her, because she is Mummie's sister and my child.
And because she wants so much to do what is best for our dear little
Jock. Yes, she really does, Jock darling. So won't you try?" coaxed
Grannie.
And how could Jock murmur anything but—"Yes"?