Elvira had just got possession, by stealth, of a new novel; that species of reading being absolutely prohibited in Mrs. Wilson's house, she had crept up to the garret, and was promising herself a long afternoon of stolen pleasure. "Oh, Jane," said she, "why can't you go down and tell Mother you can't find me. Just tell her, you guess I have gone down to Miss Bancker's, to inquire whether the tracts have come; that's a good thought; that will quiet her;" and she was resuming her book, when seeing Jane did not move, she added, "I'll do as much for you any time."
"I shall never wish you to do as much for me, Elvira."
"I do not think it is so very much, just to go down stairs; besides, Jane," she added, imperiously, "Mother says, you must do whatever we ask you to."
Elvira was so habituated to deceit, that it never occurred to her, that the falsehood was the difficult part of the errand to Jane; and when Jane said, "Cousin Elvira, I will do whatever is reasonable for you, and no more; any thing that is true, I will tell your Mother for you;" she laughed in derision.
"Pooh, Jane, you have brought your deaconish nonsense to a poor market. It was easy enough to get along with the truth with your mother, because she would let you have your own way on all occasions; but I can tell you, disguises are the only wear in our camp!"
