120 UNOPENED PARCELS.

PART III.

Two years! it sounds a long time to write of, but
oh how soon it slips away when the little daily
details of life go on uninterrupted by any startling
joy or sorrow !

Yes; it was really two years before my father
and I apoke again on the subject of our last con-
versation, and.yet when we did, it came back upon
me like a recollection of yesterday.

We had had a few more words about it thes verv
next morning, it is true, but I do not call that
conversation. I was running through the hall
after lessons, with a flowerpot in one hand and a
rake in the other, when the library-door opened,
and my father’s voice called me in.

I felé in a terrible hurry, and he saw it, but laid
a hand on each of my shoulders to enforce attention.

“One moment, Honor,” said he; “just this
one! I have been half afraid that I puzzled you
last night, and made you suppose I thought it
almost better to have done wrong, if one only
repented, than to have ‘kept innocency.’ Never