that way? If I did so, you'd punish me; now, wouldn't you?"

"I don't know what to think about it," said Mrs. Parlin, gravely.
"Sometimes I am afraid Prudy is really becoming naughty and deceitful. I
thought once it was only her funny way of playing; but she is getting
old enough now to know the difference between truth and falsehood."

There was an anxious look on Mrs. Parlin's face. She was a faithful
mother, and watched her children's conduct with the tenderest care.

But this lameness of which little Prudy complained, was something more
than play; it was a sad truth, as the family learned very soon. Instead
of walking properly when her mother bade her do so, the poor child cried
bitterly, said it hurt her, and she was so tired she wished they would
let her lie on the sofa, and never get up. At times she seemed better;
and when everybody thought she was quite well, suddenly the pain and
weakness would come again, and she could only limp, or walk by catching
hold of chairs.

At last her father called in a physician.

"How long has this child been lame?" said he.

"A month or more."

The doctor looked grave. "Has she ever had an injury, Mr. Parlin, such
as slipping on the ice, or falling down stairs?"

"No, sir," replied Mr. Parlin, "I believe not."