spilled, she stopped short, and cried; "So, so!—What a piece of work is here!—Who did this, Robert?"

"I don't know, ma'am," said Robert, in a very low voice.

"You don't know, Robert!—tell me the truth—I shall not be angry with you, child—You will only lose the milk at supper; and as for the basin, I would rather have you break all the basins I have, than tell me one lie.—So don't tell me a lie.—I ask you, Robert, did you break the basin?"

"No, ma'am, I did not," said Robert; and he coloured as red as fire.

"Then, where's Frank?—did he do it?"

"No mother, he did not," said Robert; for he was in hopes, that when Frank came in, he should persuade him to say that he did not do it.

"How do you know," said his mother, "that Frank did not do it?"

"Because—because—because, ma'am," said Robert, hesitating, as liars do for an excuse—"because I was in the room all the time, and I did not see him do it."

"Then how was the basin thrown down? If you have been in the room all the time, you can tell."

Then Robert, going on from one lie to another, answered,

"I suppose the dog must have done it."—

"Did you see him do it?" says his mother.

"Yes," said this wicked boy.

"Trusty, Trusty," said his mother, turning round; and Trusty, who was lying before the fire, drying his legs, which were wet with the milk, jumped up, and came to her. Then she said, "Fie! fie! Trusty!" and she pointed to the milk.—"Get me a switch out of the garden, Robert; Trusty must be beat for this."

Robert ran for the switch, and in the garden he met his brother: he stopped him, and told him, in a great hurry, all that he had said to his mother; and he begged of him not to tell the truth, but to say the same as he had done.

"No, I will not tell a lie," said Frank.—"What! and is Trusty to be beat!—He did not throw down the milk, and he shan't be beat for it—Let me go to my mother."

They both ran toward the house—Robert got first home, and he locked the house-door, that Frank might not come in. He gave the switch to his mother.

Poor Trusty! he looked up as the switch was lifted over his head; but he could not speak, to tell the truth. Just as the blow was falling upon him, Frank's voice was heard at the window.

"Stop, stop! dear mother, stop!" cried he, as loud as ever he could call; "Trusty did not do it—let me in—I and Robert did it—but do not beat Robert."

"Let us in, let us in," cried another voice, which Robert knew to be his father's; "I am just come from work, and here's the door locked."

Robert turned as pale as ashes when he heard his father's voice; for his father always whipped him when he told a lie.

His mother went to the door, and unlocked it.

"What's all this?" cried his father, as he came in; so his mother told him all that had happened;—how the milk had been thrown down; how she had asked Robert whether he had done it; and he said that he had not, nor that Frank had not done it, but that Trusty, the dog, had done it; how she was just going to beat Trusty, when Frank came to the window and told the truth.

"Where is the switch with which you were going to beat Trusty?" said the father.

Then Robert, who saw, by his father's look, that he was going to beat him, fell upon his knees, and cried for mercy, saying, "Forgive me this time, and I will never tell a lie again."

But his father caught hold of him by the arm—"I will whip you now," said he, "and then, I hope, you will not." So Robert was whipped, till he cried so loud with the pain, that the whole neighbourhood could hear him.

"There," said his father, when he had done, "now go to supper; you are to have no milk to-night, and you have been whipped. See how liars are served!" Then, turning to Frank, "Come here, and shake hands with me, Frank; you will have no milk for supper; but that does not signify; you have told the truth, and have not been whipped, and every body is pleased with you. And now I'll tell you what I will do for you—I will give you the little dog Trusty, to be your own dog. You shall feed him, and take care of him, and he shall be your dog; you have saved him a beating; and, I'll answer for it, you'll be a good master to him. Trusty, Trusty, come here."

Trusty came; then Frank's father took off Trusty's collar—"To-morrow I'll go to the brazier's," added he, "and get a new collar made for your dog: from this day forward he shall always be called after you, Frank!——And, wife, whenever any of the neighbours' children ask you why the dog Trusty is to be called Frank, tell them this story of our two boys: let them know the difference between a liar and a boy of truth."

THE

ORANGE MAN;

OR,

THE HONEST BOY AND THE THIEF.

Charles was the name of the honest boy; and Ned was the name of the thief.

Charles never touched what was not his own: this is being an honest boy.

Ned often took what was not his own: this is being a thief.

Charles's father and mother, when he was a very little boy, had taught him to be honest, by always punishing him when he meddled with what was not his own: but when Ned took what was not his own, his father and mother did not punish him; so he grew up to be a thief.

Early one summer's morning, as Charles was going along the road to school, he met a man leading a horse, which was laden with panniers.

The man stopped at the door of a public-house which was by the road side; and he said to the landlord, who came to the door, "I won't have my horse unloaded; I shall only stop with you whilst I eat my breakfast.—Give my horse to some one to hold here on the road, and let the horse have a little hay to eat."

The landlord called; but there was no one in the way; so he beckoned to Charles, who was going by, and begged him to hold the horse.

"Oh," said the man, "but can you engage him to be an honest boy? for these are oranges in my baskets; and it is not every little boy one can leave with oranges."

"Yes," said the landlord, "I have known Charles from the cradle upwards, and I never caught him in a lie or a theft; all the parish knows him to be an honest boy; I'll engage your oranges will be as safe with him as if you were by yourself."

"Can you so?" said the orange man; "then I'll engage, my lad, to give you the finest orange in my basket, when I come from breakfast, if you'll watch the rest whilst I am away."—

"Yes," said Charles, "I will take care of your oranges."

So the man put the bridle into his hand, and he went into the house to eat his breakfast.

Charles had watched the horse and the oranges about five minutes, when he saw one of his school-fellows coming towards him. As he came nearer, Charles saw that it was Ned.