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How She Told a Lie.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX
GENTLEMAN,"
The three travelers—kind Cousin
Eva and her young charges, Cherry
and Ruth—were standing on the stair-
case of the curious Hotel de Bourg-
throude, ty the Place de ls Pucelle,
Rouen. The narrow, gloon y little
wquare looked still narrower and
gloomier in the drizzle of the dull
November ds y, snd the ug'y pump in
the middle of it, with a stil uglier
statue on the top, marking the place
where Jeanne d’Arc was burnt, had
been a sore disappeintment to the
children. They had come, enthusias.
tio little nhigrimus, to see the spot where
thelr favorite heroine died; and
Cousin Eva could hard’y get them to
believe that it was the spot—that the
common: looking market place, where
a few ordinary merhet people were
passing and repassiug, had actusl'y
heen the scene of that cruel deed—
that from the very identical windows
of these identical houses brutal «yes
bad watched the maid as she stood,
the flames curling rou. d her, claspink
the rude eross which some charitable
soul pushed towsrd her hand.
a.
to investigate from under her umbrella
the curious bas reliefs of the Field of
the Cloth of Gold, which «till remain
in the court of the Hotel du Bourg-
throude. ‘‘No, children, you must
wait a more desirable opportuni'y.”
Which, however, was not long in
coming. The dsy brightened—grew
into one of those exquisite ds ys which
French people call Fete de Bt. Martin
—and truly I know nothing like it
except what it most resemblese—a
sweet peaceful contented old age. Bo
Cousin Eva decided to take the chil-
dren to a place which she herself had
once seen and never forgotten—the
little church on the hilltop called
Notre Dame de Bon Secours.
“ Is that the same w hich Alice sing
about in the opera of ‘Robert le Dia-
ble?” and Chery struck up in her
clear, young voice—
“Quand jo quittals ma Normandie,"
Rouen is Norman(y, so of course it is
the same—
‘Dalgune proteger nos amours
Notre Dame de Bon Secours.”
“ Please don’t sing quite #0 loud or
the hotel people will hear you,’ sald
timid Ruth, and was quite relieved
when thy started off. I need not
relate how extreme!y the cnildren en-
“Do you remember,” Cousin Eva
said, “how, at the last moment, she
retracted all the false confession of
here'y and witchersft which tortoye
had wrung from her, and exclaimed :
‘Yes, vy voices were of God,” ard
how, when she saw the flax es ap
proaching h.r, she shut her yes,
sslled out once: ‘Jesus!’ dropped her
head upon her Lremst and that was
all, till th y raked up a handful of
charred bones out of the embers, and
threw them into the Seine?’
The children Jooked ve: y grave. At
_iast the y did realize the whole.
“I wonder what sort of a dey it
was,” whispered Cherry ; “dull sand
gloou y, like to-d: y, or with a bright,
plue,sunry ¢} y? Perhaps she looked
ap at it before the fire touched her
And perhaps he stood here—just
where we stand—the English soldier
who cried out, ‘We have burut »
saint!’ ”’
“And so sne was,” sald Ruth, with
a quiver passing over the eager little
face, ‘a real saint.”
“Bat, Cousin Eva” added Chery,
“why did she ever own to being a
witch? and how could she say her
voices were not trae when sbe believed
they were true? One wy or the other
ane must have told a lie.’
Mise Cher y was of an arguments.
tive rather than a sentimental turn.
She thought a good deal herself, and
liked to make other people think, too,
30 a8 to enable ner to get at the bot-
tom of things. Bhe could never over
look the slightest break in a chain
of practical reasoning; and if she
had a contempt in this world it was
for a Weak person or & parson who
told a lie. This flaw, even in her
tavori te maid of Orleans, otherwise so
strong and brave, was 100 much for
Cher: y 10 pass OVer.
“Do you think,” sald Cousin Eva,
that it would be possible, under
stress of circumstances, to tell a lie—to
sonfess to something one had never
done? Bishop Cranmer, for instance
have you forgotien how he signed»
recantation and then thrust into
the flames ‘that anwortl y right
Land? And Galileo, when forced t y
the inquisition to declare the earth
stood still, muttered afterward, ' E per-
of muove,’ Yes, yes,” continued she,
“one never knows what one m:y be
driven to till the time comes. The
force of torture is ve y strong. Once
upon s time I remember I told a lie.”
“You told s lie,” echoed Chery,
locking with amazement into the
bright, sweet, honest face—ro:y-
cheeked, blue yed—her little cousins
themselves had not more - innocent
eyes than Eva's—as clear and round
as a bal y's
“Bat nobody ever tortured you?”
saked tendered-hearted Ruth, cling-
ing te the tender hand which, indeed,
she never went far awry from, in
these alarming “foreign parts.”
“No, wy little girl ; the thumb-
d the maiden be-
Still, even nowadsys,
good deal of moral torture can be
to bear upon one ocoasionally,
'y when one is only a child, as
1 was then. And I was tried sharply—
to make me remember 1) gre
an | feel quite sure that if
ow! Jeanne & Arc 1 should very like-
y have done exaci'y as she did. Also
I tearned what I have tried to put In
joe ever since, that nothin
makes people lisrs like disbelleving
tender ili tle pressure to
while Cherry said
poor Jeaune
t like
how well
quite innocen
a’Are? Dotelll You know
we like the story.”
“What, here in this pelt of rain?”
answered Cousin Eva, as she
i yed the stiff climb up the hill, and
dwired the love y building, all ablaze
with brilliant but harmonious color
ing, and the little side chapels filled
with innumerable votive inscriptions :
“ A Marie,” ** Graces a Marie,” “ Elle
a exauce mes yoeux,’” ete. Curlous,
gimple, almost childish, it all was, yet
touching to those who feel, ns Cousin
Eva did, that to belleve earnestly in
ar ything is better than believing in
nouring.
Afterward th: y all sat and rested in
one of the pretiest resting-places I
know for those that live and move, or
for ‘* them that sleep ''—the grave.
yard on the hilltop, close behind the
church of Notre Dame de Bon Becours.
From this &igh point they could see |
the whole count: y for miles and miles,
tbe Seine winding through it in pic
picturesque curves; Rouen, with its
bridges and streets, distinct as if a
map, I'y at their right hand, and,
rising out of the mass of houses, ethe-
real zed 1y the yellow sunset, were
the two spires of the cathedral and
the church of st. Ouen,
“Can you see the market piace,
Cousin Eva? If so, poor Jeanne d’Are,
when she was brought out to die,
must have seen this hill, with the
church on top of it; that is, supposing
there was a church.”
“There might have been, though
pot this ome, which is modern, you
see,”
“J wonder,” continued Cherry,
who was alwsys wondering, ** if she
looked up at it, and thought it hard
that Notre Dame de Bon Becours
should not have succored her. Per-
haps because, to escape from the here
tic English, she had told a le"!
“And that reminds me,’ added
Ruth, who was not given to ethical
questions, “that while we sit and rest
we might hear from Cousin Eva about
the lie she told.”
“Yes, yes, please sy, Cousin Eva,
was it & big or a little one? Wiy
did you tell it? And was it ever
found out ?”’
“I don't quite see the difference be
tween big and little, 10 y child. A lie
is a lle, though sometimes there are
extenuating circumstances in the rea-
son for telling it. And once told, the
question whether it is found out or
not does not matter. My lie was never
found out, but it grieved me sll the
same.”
“Will it grieve you to tell me about
it? I should not like that,” said
Rath, softly.
“No, dear; because I have long
since forgiven myself. I was guch a
small child, much younger than
eitier of you, and unlike you I
had no parents, orly an sunt, an
anele, and & lot of rough cousins who
domineered over me and made me
afraid. That was the cause. The
sure way te makes child untruthful
is to make it afraid. I remember as
if it were yesterday, the shudder of
terror that came over me when wy
eldest cousin clutched me by the
shoulder, ssylug: ‘Did you do
that?’ L 2)
“And what had you done?” naked
Cherry.
“Nothing ; but Will thought 1 had,
We were all digging in our garden,
and had just found his favorite jessa-
milne plant lying uprooted on the
It had been my favorite, too,
but Will took it from my garden aod
planted it in his own, where I watch.
ed it anxiously, for I was afraid It
would die.”
«You did it on purpose,’ Will per-
sisted, ‘or if not out of revenge, out of
pure silliness. Girls are v8 80
silly. Didn’t you propose esterday
to dig it up to see if it hind got a root 7’
Which was quite true. I was a
ve ysil'y little gird, but I meant no
there. But they never thought of him
as the sinner; it was only of me,
And when I denied the thing they
were only the morse angry.
“'You know you sre telling a lle,
and where do little girls go that tell
lies?’ cried Will, who sometimes told
them himself; but then he was a bey,
and it was a rule in that family, =
terribly mistaken one, that the boys
might do anything, and that the girls
must alwys give In to the boys. Bo
when Will looked flercely at me, re-
peating, ‘You know you did it; I
almost felt as if I really had done it.
Unable to find another word I began
to cry.
+[,o0k. here,children,’ he called to
all the rest of the children. ‘Eva has
gone and pulled up my jessamine, out
of spite, or mischief, or pure siiliness
—I don’t know which, and I don’t
care. I'd forgive her if she would
only confess, but she won’t. Bhe
keeps on felling hie after lie, and we
won't stand children that tell lies.
If we punish her, she’ll howl, so 1
propose that until she confesses we
all send her to Coventry.”
« [p's a very nice town, but I den’t
want to go there,’ sald ;’ at which
I remember, they all burst out laugh-
ing, and I cried only the more.
“1 had no idea of what sending to
Coventry meant, unless it was like
gending to Siberia, which I had
lately been reading of, or to the quick-
gilver mines, where condemned con-
viots were taken, and where nobody
sever lived more than two years
Perhaps there were quicksilver mines
al Coventry. A cold shudder of fear
ran through me, but I was atterly
powerless. I could but die.
“Soon I discovered what ry pun-
ishment was, and, though not death,
it was hard epough., Fan y, children,
being treated d:y after d y, and all
dy long, jusl as if you were & chalr
or table—never taken the least notice
of, never asnawered if you spoke, never
en any recount,
pl: yed with, petted or scolded ; oom-
pletely and sbsolute’y ignored, This
was belong sent to ‘Covent: y,” and it
was as cruel a punishment as could
have been inflicted upon sy little girl
wh. liked her plsyfellows, rough as
th y were, and was very fond of one
of them, who was never rough, but
always kind and good.
“This was alittle Ixy who lived
next door. His parents, like mine,
were out in Indiza—nor had he any
brothers or sisters, He was just my
age, and younger than a" y of my
cousins. Bo we were the best ©
friends, Tommy and I. His surname
I have forgotten, but I know we
always called him Tommy, and I
loved him dearly. The bitterest pang
of all this bitter time was that even
Tommy went over to the enen y.
“At first he had been very sorry for
me—had tried, all through that holi-
dsy Basturday when my punishment
began, to pers: de me to confess and
escape it; and when he failed —for
how could I confess to what 1 had
never done—to an action 80 mean
that I would have been ashamed even
to have thought of doing?—then
Tom y also sent me to Covenly
On the Sunde y, all ‘us children’—we
didn't mind grammar much 'n those
day:—walked to church together
across the fields, and Tommy always
walked with me, chattering the whole
way. Now we walked in total silence
for Will's yess were upon him, and
even Tommy was afrald. Whatever
I said, he never answered a single
word.
“Then [ felt aa if the whole world
were against meas if it were no use
trying to be good, or telling the truth,
since even the truth was regarded as
a lie. In short, in ny childish wey, I
suffered much as poor Jeanne 4’Arc
must have suffered when she was shut
up Im her prison at Rouen, ca'led a
witch, a decelver—forsaken of all, and
yet promisea pardon if she would only
eonfess and own she was a wicked
woman, whicn she knew she was nt.
+] was quite innocent, but after
three days of being supposed guilty, I
sensed to care whether I was guilty or
not. I seemed not to care for anything,
Mince they supposed I was capable of
pulling up & harmless jessamine root
out of spite, what did it matter whether
they thoaght I had told a lie or not ?
Indeed, If I tell one, it would be mach
easier than telling the truth; and
every day ‘un y sticking It out’ and per-
sisting In the truth became more diffi-
cult.
“This state of things continued till
Wednesds y, which was our half holi-
day, when my cousins went for a long
walk or played cricket, and I was
gent In to spend the afternoon with
Tommy. Thry were the delight of
my life those quiet Wednesdays. when
Tomn y and I went ‘mooning abou,’
dug in our garden, watched our tad.
poles—we had a handbasin full of
them, which we kept In the arbor till
they developed into myriads of frog,
and went hopping about everywhere,
But even tadpoles could mot charm
me now, snd 1 dreaded, rather than
my half holiday.
Moult enough, for
and she was a prim and rather strict
old lady, to whom a child who had
been sent to Coventry for telling a lie
would be a perfect abhorrence. What
could Ido? Would it not be better
to hide away somewhere, 50 as to es-
cape going into Tomn y s house at all?
indeed, I almost think that some
vague thought of running Away and
hiding myself forever crossed my
mind, when I beard Will calling me.
“He and two of the others were
standing at the front door, a terribl
council of three, like that which used
to sentence to death the victims in
the Prigoni which we saw last month
at Venice. I felt not unlike a condemn-
ed prisoner—one who had been shut
up so long that death came almost as
a rellef, which it must often have
been to those poor souls, The three
big boys stood over me like judges
over a criminal, and Tommy stood
beside them, looking very sad.
“Little girl,’ sald Willie, In quite
a judicial tone, ‘ we think you have
been punished enough to make you
thoroughly ashamed of yourself. We
wish you to go and plry with Tommy,
as usual ; but Tomn y could not possi-
b'y have you unless you were out of
Covenliy. We will give you one
chance more. Confess that you pulled
up the jessamine and we will forgive
you and tell nobody about you, and
my, just as if nothing had happened.
Think-—you have or'y to sy one
word.’
“+ And if 1 don’t say it?
“i Then, answered Will, with a
solemn and awful expression, * I shall
be obliged immediately to tell every:
body everything.’
“ That terrible threat, all the more
formidable because of its vagueness,
quite overcame me. To be set down
as & liar or to become one; to be pun-
ished as I know my sunt would pan-
jsh me on her son's mere staternent
for a wrong I had never done, or to do
a wrong thing, and, escaping punish-
ment, go back to my hap; y life with
my dear Tommy, who stood, the tear
inhiseyes awaiting my decision!
“It was a hard sirait—too hard for
one so young. And Will stood glar
ing at me with his remorseless eyes.
“i'Well, now—s:y once for all, did
“ It was too much, Suddenly, slow
ly, I made up my mind to the inevita
ble, and answered, 'Bince you will
have it so—yes,’ But the instant I
had said it I fell into such a fit of sob-
bing—almost hysterical screaming—
that my cousins were frightened and
ral AWAY.
“Tommy stald, however, He got
me into the quiet arbor as fast as he
could. I felt his arms around my
neck and his comforting was very
tender, very sweet, But lt was long
before I stopped crying, and still
longer before anything like cheerful-
ness came into my poor little heart.
We played together all the afternoon
very aflectionsate’y, but in a rather
melancholy sort of wry, as if we had
something on our minds to which we
never made the smallest reference.
Tommy was a timid bry, and Will
had cowed him into unkindness ; but
he loved me. Only, ss is often tle
case, If his love had had a little mr
courage it would have been better for
me-—perhaps for him, too,
“We spent a peaceful but rather dull
afternoon, and then were summoned
indoors to tea,
“Now tes at Tommy's house was a
serious thing. Tommy's grandmother
always ate at the table and looked at
us through her spectacles, and talked
to us in & formal and dignified mav-
ner, saking if we had been good chl’-
dren, had learnt our lessons well, had
played together without quarrelling,
ete. Bhe was a kind old lady, years
upon years older than we, and quite
unable to understand us at all. Con-
sequently we never did more than
answer her questions and hold our
tongues, As for telling her anything,
eur troubles especially, we should as
soon have thought of confiding in the
Queen or Emperor of all the Rus
siana,
“] mever opened my lips all tes
time, and at last she potice i it. Also
that my eyes were rather red.
“ap little girl looks as if she had
been crying. I hope you have not
made her ery, Tommy, my dear.’
“Tommy was silent. But I eagerly
declared that Tommy had net made
me ory. Tommy Was never unkind
te me.
“ I am glad to hear it, Evangeline,’
she always gave me my full name,
‘and I hope you, too, are a good child,
who is never in mischief, and above
all never tells lies. If I were not
quite sure of that I could not allow
Tommy to play with you.’
“She looked me fully in the face, as
if she saw through and through us—
which she did not, being very ahort-
sighted—yet I felt myself tremble in
every limb, As for Tommy, he just
at me snd glanced away
again, turning crimson to the very
roots of his hair, but he said noth.
“What would have appeared next,
I eannot tell; we waited in
to speak to some one, and we two
children had to finish our tes alone,
“It almost choked us-—me al any
rate. But ss soon as it was over,
ard Tommy sand I found ourselves
out in the g rden, I flung my arms
around his neck and told him all.
“And Tommy believed me, No
maiter whether the others did or not,
Tommy believed me at last! Tommy
sympsthized with me, comforted me,
thought I was not so wicked even
though I had told a lle, but not the
one I was accused of telling. Tommy
wept with me over all that I had sul
fered, and promised that, though per
haps it was better to Jet the matter
rest now, if such a thing were to hap-
pen again he would not be afraid of
Will, or anybody, but would stand
up for me ‘like a man.’ ”’
“And did he do it 7’! asked Cherry,
with slight incredulity in her tone.
“He never had the opportunity. A
week after this he was suddenly sent
for to join his parents sbrosd and
pever saw my friend Tommy an
more,”’
“But did you neyer hear of him?
Is he alive still? He must be a very
old gentleman by this time.”
“Very, No doubt a father-—possi-
bly even a grandfather,” replied
Cousin Eva, smiling.
Cherry blushed. “I didn’t mean
that, since he was barely as old as
you, and you are certainly not a
grandmotiner, But want to hear
more of Tommy. Is he married ?”’
“I really cannot ssy. The last time
I hesrl of him was tep years ago ;
when he was living somewhere
abroad—I rather think in Bhanghal,
He was not married then.”
“I wish,” whispered Ruth solemnily
“Y wish he would come back W
England and mary you.”
Cousin Eva laughed, “There might
be two opinions on that question,
you know. But oh! my children,
when you are married and have chil.
dren of your own, remember ny
story. If ever a poor little thivg
looks up in your face saying, ‘I dida’t
do that,’ believe it ! If it sobs cut, “I
sm naughty,’ don't eall it naugh'y.
Give it the benefit of the doubt. Have
patience, take time: and whatever
are alwsys liars. Of the two evils lt
is less harmfal to believe a person
who tells a lie, than to doubt another
who is speaking the truth.”
“I think so, 100,” sald Cherry sage-
ly, “Remember poor Jeanne d’Are.”
“And poor Cousin Ewa,’ added
Ruth, kissing the well-beloved band.
And so, in the fading twilight, the
three rose up together, and went
down the hill from Notre Dame de
Bon Becours.
lf nse
House Decoration.
Do not overload your rooms with
ornament. A superabundanoce of even
the choloest ornaments will weary the
eye and obtrude unplessantly upon
the notlee,
A rather long, large {rawing-room
would look well with cool blue woolen
and silken draperies, woodwork
creamy-white, or, for choice, two tones
of olive green; chimnpey-piece to
match, or perhaps ebonized, with
ornaments of Eastern china.
Glazed tiles in fireplaces and for
laying hearths serve a useful as well
as an ornamental purpose; for the
polished surface of the tiles reflects a
considerable amount of heat into the
room, and makes a cheerful glow
which both looks and feels warm.
Paint upon woodwork in rooms
should always be of pure aud simple
colors and “flatted;” the ordinary
“graining’ to imitate different kinds
of wood being mere dissimulation,
as such to be entirely reprobated ; the
more clearly itis done, the more ab-
solute the untruth.
Instead of curtains, which the mod
ern forms of bedstead renders incon.
gruvus and impossible, screens on
either side of the bed are a much
preitier and healthier substitute
Screens insure privacy, they keep ou
the light if necessary and are a great
improvement to the looks of any
room.
It is of the first Importance to have
the furniture and fittings of a bed
room simply constructed and not too
heavy to be easily removed for house
cleansing. The carpet should never
eover the whole of the floor ; but only
laid down in the centre of the room
and fastened with carpet-pins, so that
it can be easily taken up and shaken.
The rest of the floor may be stained
and varnished, and kept frequently
rubbed with beeswax and turpentine,
In sll purchases of furniture, insist
upon honest material, little glue and
good sound workmanship, even ia
—_
Home Gossip.
Ladies scarcely realize the possibill
ties of chamois leather. It isan ex-~
cellent material for decorative pur
poses. It takes color well, and is be~
sides 80 soft and pliable that it can be
very readily embroidered ; in addition
to this it answers, well for designs in
dry color,
HBeveral years ago paper curtains
were in grest demand in England,
They were usually In imitation
of Eastern designs, and were also
lined with paper, the linings being
different'y decorated, An attempt
has béen made to introduce them
here, but hitherto not very suc
cessful’'y. They are, of course, much
cheaper than hangings of worsted ms.
terials, and as they haves glazed sur-
face, they can be readily shaken or
wiped free from dust.
The fashionable table lamp of to-dry
is mounted upon a beautifully paint~
ed vase of spheroid form, and is often
of very great value, choice porcelain
being selected for this purpose,
Some of the most beautiful carving
ly ladies is carried out in cedar wood.
They are specially adapted for glove
boxes and other swall articles.
The table doilies are now oftn em-
broidered in the centre only. An in-
itinl letter is frequent'y selected, and
within a fanciful or grotesque figure is
carried out in raised dotted embroid-
ey.
A novel'y is about to be introduced
for bedrooms in the shape of a draped
toilet table. The foundation is of
ordinary wood, and above the table
an upper frame is supplied with »
swinging mirror. The drapery is ar
ranged upon a projecting shell above
the frame and festooned around the
glass, which is also decorated with a
double ruching of the material. Usu-
al'y paper muslin of light color is se
lected as 8s background, and spotted
| Bwiss supplies the material of the
| drape y itself.
Crysial is gaining in favor. Most
beautiful centre pieces for the lunch
| table are in vogue, deep’y cut in this
material, and a new shape hes super-
| ceded the globular. It is not unlike
& crescent.
Iridescent mother-of pearl is much
| used now for bouquet holders, fan.
handles, ete. It is often rich 'y carved,
but still more frequent'y inlaid with
gold and silver.
Braiding is to become populsr again.
Rounded soutache will be used, as the
designs can be executed in raised
work ty its use. It is en<y to give
Eastern ¢ffects 1 y can ying out a free
design upon musiin, serun or thin
materiale of any kind.
The effect of applique work, which
is given to the popular jute and linen
plushes so much in use now, is gained
by the great attention that is paid to
the effect of light and shade. Even
without the outline embroidery in
gold thread, which give them their
handseme finish, the same result is
large y effected.
Cushions for deep cane chairs are
made of tufted plush or satin, and as
an sccompaniment a strip of the same
material ‘and color is embroidered as a
scarf for the back and finished off
with deep fringe, which is often of
rich gqualliv.
A handsome ornament for the par
lor wall consists of a small cabinet in
carved wood, the doors of which open
downward and, }'y means of movable
supports, form a writing-desk. Fre.
quent'y the panels are either painted
or pleces of embroidery are mounted
apon them.
Oddy-shaped tables are much in
demand. Some of them are round
and just low enough to reach a lady's
elbows as she sits at work, and are
rotatory. Others are round in front
and straight at the back, and are sup.
ported upon half-recumbent figures.
Tables of every shape are to be had for
decoration at home, and are covered
with jute plush embroidered in raised
figures or simply finished off by a
deep fringe.
Ornamental figures in terra coils
are seen everywhere, Fy the intro-
duction of color an immense variety
in effect is gaived, and where only
moderate’'y used it is as beautiful as
effective,
Menu cards can be besutiful’y deco
rated at home, They should be in
three folds, like miniature screens,
and each fold should bear a different
floral or emblamatic device. The
outer one, if possible, should have as
decoration the monogram of the guest
by whose plate it is placed.
Vegetables my be wsthetioally
besutiful, but the attempt to introduce
them #&s appropriate decoration for
table mats and doilies has not proved
successful ; fruits, blossoms or fancy
figures are far more suitable.
Much ingenuity might be displayed
to the advantage of cornices for small
rooms, which are often lofty and out
of all proportion. Huse it would be
found an improvement to let the ms
jor part of the cornice be upon the
wall, only intruding slightly upon the
celling ares, which would look the
larger for non-nterruption. A simple
border of ivy, oak or other shapely
leaves simply suggested in plaster,
would sult many rooms better than
the usually 100 assertive mass of bad
ly proportioned linear moldings.