eir heavenly
Father, with every care, sorrow, doubt and difficulty.

"I'll ask Jesus," thought Vi; "he'll help me to know, because the Bible
says, 'If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God that giveth to all
men liberally and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.'"

She slipped into an adjoining room, where she was quite alone, and
kneeling down, whispered softly, with low sobs and many tears, "Dear
Father in heaven, I've been a very, very naughty girl; I disobeyed my
dear mamma; please forgive me for Jesus' sake and make me good. Please
Lord Jesus, help me to know if I ought to tell mamma."

A text--one of the many she had learned to recite to her mother in that
precious morning half hour--came to her mind as she rose from her knees.
"He that covereth his sins shall not prosper: but whoso confesseth and
forsaketh them shall have mercy."

"I didn't cover them;" she said to herself, "I told God: but then God
knew all about it before; he sees and knows everything; but mamma
doesn't know. Perhaps it means I musn't cover them from her. I think
Jesus did tell me."

Wiping away her tears she went back into the drawing-room. The gentlemen
were just leaving it, her father among the rest. A sudden resolution
seized her and she ran after them.

"Papa!"

He turned at the sound of her voice. "Well daughter?"

"I--I just want to ask you something."

"Another time then, pet, papa's in a hurry now."

But seeing the distress in the dear little face he came to her and
laying his hand on her head in tender fatherly fashion, said, "Tell papa
what it is that troubles you. I will wait to hear it now."

"Papa," she said, choking down a sob, "I--I don't know what to do."

"About what, daughter?"

"Papa, s'pose--s'pose I'd done something naughty, and--and it would
grieve dear mamma to hear it; ought I to tell her and--and make her
sorry?"

"My dear little daughter," he said bending down to look with grave,
tender eyes into the troubled face, "never, _never_ conceal anything
from your mother; it is not safe for you, pet; and she would far rather
bear the pain of knowing. If our children knew how much, how very much
we both love them, they would never want to hide anything from us."

"Papa, I don't; but--somebody says it would be selfish to hurt mamma
so."

"The selfishness was in doing the naughty thing, not in confessing it.
Go, my child, and tell mamma all about it."

He hastened away, and Violet crept back to