cups. I felt quite provoked with myself for feeling so uneasy. I had
thought I should have felt quite comfortable and happy once the cup was
restored. I had spent all, or very nearly all, my money on it. I said to
myself, Who could have done more? And I determined not to be so silly and
to think no more about it--but it was no good. Every time my grandmother
looked at me, every time she spoke to me--worst of all when the time came
for me to go and she kissed me, somehow so much more tenderly than usual,
and murmured some words I could not catch, but which sounded like a
little prayer, as she stroked my head in farewell--it was dreadfully hard
not to burst into tears and tell her all, and beg her to forgive me. But
I went away without doing so.

"Half way home a strange thought came suddenly into my mind. It seemed to
express the unhappiness I was feeling. Supposing my grandmother were to
die, supposing I were never to see her again, would I _then_ feel
satisfied with my behaviour to her, and would I still say to myself that
I had done all for the best in spending my money on a new cup? Would
I not then rather feel that it would have been less grievous to my
grandmother to know of my breaking twenty cups, than to discover the
concealment and want of candour into which my cowardliness had led me?

"'If grandmother were _dead_, I suppose she would know all about it,' I
said to myself. 'I would not like to think of that. I would rather have
told her myself.'

"And I startled my father by turning to him suddenly and asking if
grandmother was very old. He replied, 'Not so very. Of course she is not
_young_, but we may hope to have her among us many a day yet if God wills
it, my little woman.'

"I gave a sigh of relief. 'I know she is very strong,' I said. 'She is
very seldom ill, and she can take quite long walks still.'

"Thank God for it,' said my father, evidently pleased with my interest in
my grandmother. And although it was true that already I was beginning to
love her much more than formerly, still my father's manner gave me again
the miserable feeling that I was gaining credit which I did not deserve.

"More than a week passed after this without my seeing my grandmother. It
was not a happy week for me. I felt quite unlike my old light-hearted
self. And constantly--just as when one has a tender spot anywhere, a sore
finger for instance, everything seems to rub against it--constantly
little allusions were made wh