“Hold your jaw, or I’ll slap your mouth for you, you lying thief!” said Julia (alias Fanny).  “Of course you’ve got it, for no one else has been in here; so tell where you hid it.”

“Lordy massy!  How can I tell, when I dun know nothin’ whar ’tis,” said Luce.

“There, take, that to brighten up your ideas,” said Fanny, and at the same time there was, the sound of a blow, which was followed by an outcry from Luce, who exclaimed, “Oh—­oh—­oh—­Miss Fanny, don’t go for to whip me, ’case I haint nothin to tell; if I had I’d tell right off.  I haint seed your hankercher ’tall.  Mebby you’ve done drapped it somewhar.”

Just then the door opened, and Julia, again speaking naturally, was heard to say, “Why, Fanny, what are you doing just as soon as mother is gone?  Luce, what is the matter?”

“Oh, Miss Julia,” replied Luce, “Miss Fanny done lost her fine hankercher, and she say how I stole it, but I haint.”

“What makes you think Luce has got your handkerchief, Fanny?” asked Julia.

“Because I left it on the table, and ’tisn’t there now; and no one has been in the room except Luce,” replied Fanny.

“Very likely you have put it in your drawer and forgotten it; let me look,” said Julia.

There was a moment’s silence, and then Julia was heard to exclaim, “There it is, just as I thought.  Here it is, safe in your box.  I do wish, sister, you would not be quite so hasty, but stop a little before you condemn others.”  So saying, the party left the room.

While this scene was taking place, Fanny was quietly seated by the fire in the sitting room, getting her lesson for the next day.  At last her eye chanced to fall upon a purse which Julia was knitting for her father and which she had promised to finish that night.

“I wonder,” said Fanny to herself—­“I wonder where Julia is gone so long?  She told father she would finish his purse this evening, and he will scold so, if it is not done, that I believe I’ll knit on it till she returns.”

Suiting the action to the word, she caught up the purse, and when Julia returned to the sitting room, she found her sister busily engaged in knitting for her.

“Why, Julia,” said Fanny, “where have you been so long; I though you were never coming back, so I have been knitting on your purse, for I was afraid you would not get it done, and then father would scold, you know.”

As Julia looked into her sister’s bright, innocent face and thought of all her kindness, her conscience smote her for the wrong she had done, but quickly hushing the faithful monitor, she thought, “Never mind; it is natural for me to be bad.  I cannot help it.”

Meantime the gentlemen above were discussing the conversation which they had overheard.

“Is it possible,” said Mr. Miller, “that I have been so deceived in Fanny, and that, after all, she is as passionate as her sister?”

“As passionate as her sister,” repeated Mr. Wilmot; “I think we have good proof that she is much more so.  I hope you are now convinced that Fanny is not infallible, though I will confess I am surprised and disappointed, for I thought she was really of a very gentle nature.”