AND THE ROSEBUDS.
When they were gone, she remembered her intended present and came back into the kitchen; she moved every parcel and every dish, searched the dresser, and looked on the floor, but the paper of raisins was not to be found—it was gone.
'Come here, little Rie,' she said gravely; 'did you see a paper of raisins on the table when you came home?'
'Yes, ma'am,' said the child, whose two small hands were tightly clasped behind her.
'And do you know what has become of them?'
'No, I don't, I sure I don't,' replied the child, and her delicate neck and face became suffused with crimson.
'O, my dear!' exclaimed Sally, 'if she'll speak the truth, I know missis won't be so angry with her. O, she will speak the truth, I know.'
'I did, I did,' cried the child, with an outbreak of passionate tears.
Sally upon this searched the floor and tables, and nothing could be more clear than that the raisins were not there. Alas! they could not doubt that she had eaten them, for she had been left alone in the kitchen for a few minutes, and Sally herself admitted that they could not have gone without hands.
'Now, if you will speak the truth,' said the mistress, gravely, 'and confess that you took those raisins'—
'I didn't,' repeated the child, now too much in a passion to care what she said; 'I don't want the nasty raisins, and I won't have them.'
'O, this will never do,' said the mistress; 'Sally, I really must correct her!'
