WHY, Arthur,” exclaimed Mrs. Mason, on coming into the room where she had left her two boys playing, and finding one of them there with a bunch of flowers in his hand; “how came you to pull my flowers? Haven’t I positively forbidden you to do so?”
“I did not do it, mother. I did not do it. It was John.”
“Where is John?”
“He’s in the yard.”
“Call him in,” said Mrs. Mason.
While Arthur was at the window calling to his brother, Mr. Mason, the father, came into the room.
“John has been pulling my flowers. Isn’t it too bad that a boy as big as he is should have so little consideration? They were coming out into bloom beautifully.”
Just then John entered, with a bunch of flowers also in his hand.
“John, how came you to pull my flowers?” said Mrs. Mason. “You knew it was wrong.”
“I did not think, when I pulled off a rosebud and two or three larkspurs,” replied John.
“Two or three larkspurs and a rosebud! Why, your hand is full of flowers.”
“Oh, but William Jones gave me all but the larkspurs and the rosebud. Indeed, mother, I didn’t touch any more; and I am sorry I took them; but I forgot that it was wrong when I did so.”
“But Arthur says you pulled that large bunch in his hand.”
“Arthur knows I didn’t. He knows he pulled them himself, and that I told him he’d better not do it; but he said he’d as much right to the flowers as I had.”
Mr. and Mrs. Mason both looked at Arthur in surprise and displeasure. His countenance showed that he had been guilty of wrongly accusing his brother.
“Is it true that you did pull the flowers, Arthur?” asked his mother.
But Arthur was silent.
“Speak, sir!” said the father sternly. “Did you pull the flowers?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And then falsely accused your brother of the wrong you had done. That my boy should be guilty of an evil act like this! I could not have believed it. It is a wicked thing to tell a lie to hide a fault, simply; but falsely to accuse another of what we have ourselves done, is still more wicked. Can it be possible that a son of mine has fallen so low? It grieves me to the heart.”
Mr. Mason spoke as he felt. He was deeply grieved. Nothing had occurred for a long time that so hurt him. He loved honesty and truth; but how opposite to both had been the conduct of his boy!
“Go up to your chamber, and stay there until I see you or send for you,” he said; and Arthur retired in shame from the presence of his parents, and the brother he had so meanly attempted to injure. Of course he felt very unhappy. How could he feel otherwise? The rebuking words of his father fell like heavy blows upon his heart, and the pain they occasioned was for a long time severely felt.
What punishment the parents thought it right to inflict upon Arthur we do not know; but, no doubt, he was punished in some way, as he deserved. And besides this, he had the still severer punishment which always follows that meanest fault of which any one can be guilty—that of accusing another and innocent person of what we have ourselves done.
Bad as this fault is, it is, alas! too common. But no manly, honest-minded, truthful boy will be betrayed into it. To the better impulses of our young readers who have been so wicked as to fall into this sin, either from sudden impulse or deliberate purpose, we would earnestly appeal, and beg of them to think more wisely and act more justly in the future. No cause is ever made better, but always worse, by a falsehood. Even where detection does not follow, suspicion is almost always created; for it is impossible for a boy to tell a lie without betraying it in the face or voice, and causing a doubt to pass through the minds of his parents, and set them to making inquiry into the truth or falsehood of what he has stated.
Truth—the open, bold, honest truth—is always the best, always the wisest, always the safest for every one, in any and all circumstances. Let no boy deviate from it, even though he have been guilty of a fault. Better—a thousand times better—is it to own to the wrong, and keep a clear conscience.
