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“You poor child!” said the rector. “It is hard on you, Sally, for she is no kith nor kin of yours.”

“Indeed I don’t mind,” said Sally Patterson, “if only I can succeed in bringing her up.”

Meantime Jim Patterson, up-stairs, sitting over his next day’s algebra lesson, was even more perplexed than were his parents in the study. He paid little attention to his book. “I can manage little Lucy,” he reflected, “but if the others have got hold of it, I don’t know.”

Presently he rose and stole very softly through the hall to Content’s door. She was timid, and always left it open so she could see the hall light until she fell asleep. “Content,” whispered Jim.

There came the faintest “What?” in response.

“Don’t you,” said Jim, in a theatrical whisper, “say another word at school to anybody about your big sister Solly. If you do, I’ll whop you, if you are a girl.”

“Don’t care!” was sighed forth from the room.

“And I’ll whop your old big sister Solly, too.”

There was a tiny sob.

“I will,” declared Jim. “Now you mind!”

The next day Jim cornered little Lucy Rose under a cedar-tree before school began. He paid no attention to Bubby Harvey and Tom Simmons, who were openly sniggering at him. Little Lucy gazed up at Jim, and the blue-green shade of the cedar seemed to bring out only more clearly the white-rose softness of her dear little face. Jim bent over her.

“Want you to do something for me,” he whispered.

Little Lucy nodded gravely.

“If my new cousin Content ever says anything to you again — I heard her yesterday — about her big sister Solly, don’t you ever say a word about it to anybody else. You will promise me, won’t you, little Lucy?”

A troubled expression came into little Lucy’s kind eyes. “But she told Lily, and Lily told Amelia, and Amelia told her grandmother Wheeler, and her grandmother Wheeler told Miss Parmalee when she met her on the street after school, and Miss Parmalee called on my aunt Martha and told her,” said little Lucy.

“Oh, shucks!” said Jim.

“And my aunt Martha told my father that she thought perhaps she ought to ask for her when she called on your mother. She said Arnold Carruth’s aunt Flora was going to call, and his aunt Dorothy. I heard Miss Acton tell Miss Parmalee that she thought they ought to ask for her when they called on your mother, too.”

“Little Lucy,” he said, and lowered his voice, “you must promise me never, as long as you live, to tell what I am going to tell you.”

Little Lucy looked frightened.

“Promise!” insisted Jim.

“I promise,” said little Lucy, in a weak voice.

“Never, as long as you live, to tell anybody. Promise!”

“I promise.”

“Now, you know if you break your promise and tell, you will be guilty of a dreadful lie and be very wicked.”

Little Lucy shivered. “I never will.”

“Well, my new cousin Content Adams — tells lies.”

Little Lucy gasped.

“Yes, she does. She says she has a big sister Solly, and she hasn’t got any big sister Solly. She never did have, and she never will have. She makes believe.”

“Makes believe?” said little Lucy, in a hopeful voice.

“Making believe is just a real mean way of lying. Now I made Content promise last night never to say one word in school about her big sister Solly, and I am going to tell you this, so you can tell Lily and the others and not lie. Of course, I don’t want to lie myself, because my father is rector, and, besides, mother doesn’t approve of it; but if anybody is going to lie, I am the one. Now, you mind, little Lucy. Content’s big sister Solly has gone away, and she is never coming back. If you tell Lily and the others I said so, I can’t see how you will be lying.”

Little Lucy gazed at the boy. She looked like truth incarnate. “But,” said she, in her adorable stupidity of innocence, “I don’t see how she could go away if she was never here, Jim.”