moment I could see my father, I would tell
him I was sorry, revoke what I had said about Aleck, and ride my pony to
Stavemoor.

In furtherance of these views, I ran round by the stables, and finding
that only Peter the Great and the gray had been ordered, told Rickson in
confidence that I had said to my father in the morning I would rather
not ride; but, having changed my mind since then, he was to be sure and
be ready to send round the pony as well.

Aleck, in the meantime, heard of the treat in store for him, and was
greatly elated, chattering briskly during dinner about the expedition,
without any idea that I was likely to be left behind.

My father was not a great luncheon eater, and when very busy, would
often only have a glass of wine and a biscuit sent into the study,
instead of joining us at table. Finding this was to be the case on the
present occasion, I asked leave to carry in the tray, and was permitted
to do so after I had finished my own dinner.

My father was at his writing, and looked up when he saw me, making a
place amongst his papers at the same time for the tray.

"Papa," I said, when I had put it down, "I'm sorry for what I said this
morning. I don't mind Aleck's riding the gray; and please I should like
to ride my own pony. I saw Rickson before dinner, and told him I had
changed my mind, and that very likely the pony would be wanted."

My father answered, in a quiet, grave voice: "You might have spared
yourself the trouble, Willie, of speaking to Rickson, for, though I'm
sorry to leave you behind, I cannot allow you the pleasure of the ride
to Stavemoor this afternoon."

"But, papa," I pleaded, "you always forgive me when I say I am sorry."

"And I do not say now that I will not _forgive_ the wrong things you
said this morning," he answered; "but I cannot let your conduct pass
without punishment. You must remember, my child," he added, drawing me
towards him, "that _forgiving_ and _not punishing_ are very different
things. Do you remember when God forgave David his sin, yet He punished
him by the death of his son. And it would be contrary to His commands if
Christian parents were to allow their children's faults to be
_unpunished_, although it is a Christian duty to exercise a _forgiving
spirit_."

The practical result of this statement was what I thought of most; it
was clear to my mind that the ride to Stavemoor had to be given up, and
my brow grew cloudy.

"Then, papa," I said, pouti