"Beautiful, Aunt Ruth; and now won't you tell me one of your nice
stories?"

Bessie was an only child, whose mother had just died. The little girl
had come to visit her aunt, who had learned to love her dearly because
of her winning ways and affectionate disposition.

But Aunt Ruth's eyes were of the clear sort, and she soon discovered
that Bessie was not only careless about telling the truth, but that she
displayed little sensitiveness when detected in a falsehood.

[Illustration: _The Spelling Class_]

Now, if there was any one trait for which Aunt Ruth was particularly
distinguished, it was her unswerving truthfulness; and if there was
any one thing that annoyed her more than all others, it was anything
like falsehood.

"A liar shall not stand in my sight," was the language of her heart, and
so she determined, with the help of God, to root out from her darling's
character the noxious weed, whatever effort it might cost her. Of this
she had been musing, and her resolve was formed.

"Get your rocking-chair, dear, and come close beside me;" and in a
moment the child's blue eyes were upturned to hers.

"I am old now, Bessie," and she tenderly stroked that fair brow, "and my
memory is failing. But I can recall the time when I was a little
dancing, sunny-haired girl, like you. You open your eyes wonderingly,