"It was all—all—me," cried Mousie. "I made him promise not to tell, and
I wouldn't let him. And 'I' ought to have the black mark—not Jock. It
was every bit me."
"That will do," Mr. Moore said firmly. "You must go home, Miss Baynes.
This is bad for you."
"But I am glad Phœbe has spoken," Miss Baynes said. And in her heart
she was glad also that she had talked so kindly to Jock that day, and
had told him that she could fully trust him.
Jock had no chance of saying a word, though he too was very glad; for
this meant the clearing away of the last remains of the cloud which had
hung over him.
The fly drove on, and Mr. Moore led Mousie quietly home into his study.
There he shut the door, sat down, and drew the child to his side.
Mousie hid her face on his shoulder, half wondering why she had spoken
out, yet pleased to have done so. A word or two from her father brought
out the whole tale; and Mousie, once started, shirked nothing. She made
no excuses for herself, but seemed anxious only to clear Jock. She did
not even hide the fact that she had persuaded Artie to keep her secret.
"Mousie—you!—the elder sister—to lead your little brother into deceit!"
"It was horribly disgusting of me, wasn't it, Dad?" By this time Mousie
had begun to look up in his face, almost cheerfully, for hers was a
cork-like nature, never very long depressed. "But, Dad dear, if only
you did know—that day I just felt as if I 'had' to do things. I truly
couldn't help it—truly I couldn't. You don't know what it's like,
'cause you're grown-up and so you're always good."
"Don't I know, Mousie? I've been a boy."
That was comforting. Mousie's face relaxed into a queer little smile.
"It's a bit nice, you know, to be naughty sometimes. D'you know that
too, Dad? And I did want that dear little watch so fearfully!"
"If you had gained it, do you think it would ever have given you
pleasure?"
Mousie's reply came promptly. "Oh, yes, lots. 'Cause I did want it so
very very much. Only—p'raps—later on I might have wished I'd told out
everything—like I've done now. Oh, dear—I'm so glad Jock isn't hurt.
It's only Miss Baynes."
"Poor Miss Baynes is very badly hurt, I am afraid, and she is in great
pain. It was most kind of her to let you speak."
"Was that wrong of me too? I didn't think I'd dare, if I was to put it
off. And now I've got to have the black mark, I s'pose." Mousie sighed
profoundly. "And I shan't ever have that dear little watch. I did want
it to have a real chastened silver cover." Then she smiled. "But Jock
was good. He wouldn't break none of his promises."
"Jock was an exceedingly silly little boy to make any such promises.
And you were a still sillier little girl to get him to do so. Mousie,
I think you might find something else to be sorry about, instead of
a watch and a chased silver cover. All these months you have allowed
another to be blamed and punished for what was chiefly your fault. Jock
was wrong, but you were much more wrong. And all you seem to care about
is the loss of a paltry prize."
Mousie opened her eyes widely. "Is it paltry?" she asked. "I wonder
what 'paltry' means." Then she crept closer and threw her arms round
her father.
"Certainly it is—paltry, poor, contemptible—in comparison with things
that are so very much more important. I am disappointed in you, Mousie.
I hoped better things of my little girl."
"Oh, Dad! Oh, Dad!" and Mousie clung to him vehemently. "But I'm
sorry—I'm really and truly most awfully sorry, Dad darling. And I
'will' try," she whispered, quite subdued.