ll," and she shook her head dolefully. "Miriam is a brave child, after
all." A wonderful admission for her to make.

"If you believe every thing that limb of the synagogue tells you, Mrs.
Austin, you will have a great deal to swallow, that is all I shall say
on the subject," and she turned away derisively.

"Do you mean to deny it, then, Evelyn Erle?" asked Mrs. Austin,
earnestly, laying her hand on her arm, and shaking her slightly as she
was about to leave the room. "Come back and answer me. I hope Miriam is
only angry--I hope you did _not_ do this thing."

"I will not be forcibly detained by any old woman in America," said
Evelyn, struggling stoutly, "nor questioned either about a pack of fibs.
Miriam knows better than to tell such stories--or ought to be taught
better."

"It was no story," I said, solemnly. "It was true. You did burn my
finger, and begged me not to tell Constance or papa afterward, and I
never told them, because I never break my word if I can help it, and I
wouldn't have told Mrs. Austin (but I didn't _promise_ about her, you
know), only you twitted me so meanly, and made me so mad--and it all
came out. For I can keep a secret! I know where that squirrel is now,
Evelyn Erle, but I will never tell any one--never--not even Constance
Glen. I promised myself that, and crossed my heart about it when you
tried to cut off its tail--its pretty, bushy tail that God gave it to
keep the flies off with."

Mrs. Austin was shedding tears by this time; Evelyn's insolence and
duplicity had stung her to the quick, and she saw, with real concern,
that I had justice on my side. She had relinquished her hold on Evelyn,
who stood now sullenly glaring at me, pale as a sheet, her eyes white
with rage, looking like heated steel, her lips trembling with passion.

"You _shall_ tell me where that squirrel is, or I will appeal to papa,"
she said, sharply. "It was mine. Norman Stanbury said so when he brought
it here and gave it to me. You heard him, little cheat!"

"He told me to feed it, and take care of it, and not let it get hurt, if
he did give it to you," I replied, doggedly, "and I did what he told me.
You are a born tyrant, Evelyn. Constance told you so a month ago, when
you twisted Laura Stanbury's arm for not teaching you that puzzle; and
there is a wicked word I know that suits you to-day, only I am afraid to
say it--Constance would be angry--but it begins with an L and ends with
an R, and has only four letter