The hard lines in his aunt’s face relaxed and a sudden tenderness dawned in her eyes.
“ Did you kiss me, Tom?”
“Why, yes, I did.”
“Are you sure you did, Tom?”
“Why, yes, I did, auntie—certain sure.”
“What did you kiss me for, Tom?”
“Because I loved you so, and you laid there moaning and I was so sorry.”
The words sounded like truth. The old lady could not hide a tremor in her voice when she said:
“Kiss me again, Tom!—and be off with you to school, now, and don’t bother me any more.”
The moment he was gone, she ran to a closet and got out the ruin of a jacket which Tom had gone pirating in. Then she stopped, with it in her hand, and said to herself:
“No, I don’t dare. Poor boy, I reckon he’s lied about it—but it’s a blessed, blessed lie, there’s such a comfort come from it. I hope the Lord—I know the Lord will forgive him, because it was such good-heartedness in him to tell it. But I don’t want to find out it’s a lie. I won’t look.”
She put the jacket away, and stood by musing a minute. Twice she put out her hand to take the garment again, and twice she refrained. Once more she ventured, and this time she fortified herself with the thought: “It’s a good lie—it’s a good lie—I won’t let it grieve me.” So she sought