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She was very tired, and her pretty young face in the frame of soft down about her opera-cloak looked a little cross. Russy's father plodded behind more heavily. "The boy's room, Ellen? just this once?" he pleaded in her ear. "It will take but a minute." "I am so tired, Carter! Well, if I must Why, he isn't in the bed!"
Perhaps when you'd never shaken hands with a Lie but once in your life, and that time you had to, and you'd borne it, anyway, for what seemed like weeks and months, perhaps then they went away and left you in peace! Perhaps you'd had punishment enough then. Very late Russy's mother came up-stairs.
It crowded him, it tortured him so. "This is it," thought Russy, and sank down gratefully on the cushions. His bare feet scarcely touched toe-tips to the floor. Here he would stay all night. This was better than "I'm coming, which way are you? Can't you speak up?" The Lie was coming, too! Suddenly an awful thought flashed across Russy's little, weary brain. What if the Lie would always come, too?
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