t completed when Grace returned home
from church, looking a good deal distressed. "My poor thrushes have not
escaped, Rachel," she said; "I came home that way to see how they were
going on, and the nest is torn out, one poor little fellow lying dead
below it."

"Well, that is much worse than I expected!" burst out Rachel. "I did
think that boy Conrade would at least keep his promises." And she
detailed the adventure of the previous day, whence the conclusion was
but too evident. Grace, however, said in her own sweet manner that she
believed boys could not resist a nest, and thought it mere womanhood to
intercede for such lawful game. She thought it would be best to take no
notice, it would only distress Fanny and make "the mother" more afraid
of the boys than she was already, and she doubted the possibility of
bringing it home to the puerile conscience.

"That is weak!" said Rachel. "I received the boy's word, and it is my
business to deal with the breach of promise."

So down went Rachel, and finding the boys rushing about the garden,
according to their practice, before her arrival, she summoned Conrade,
and addressed him with, "Well, Conrade, I knew that you were violent
and disobedient, but I never expected you to fail in your honour as a
gentleman."

"I'll thrash any one who says I have," hotly exclaimed Conrade.

"Then you must thrash me. You gave your word to me not to take your Aunt
Grace's thrush's nest."

"And I didn't," said Conrade, boldly.

But Rachel, used to flat denials at the village-school, was not to be
thus set aside. "I am shocked at you, Conrade," she said. "I know your
mamma will be exceedingly grieved. You must have fallen into very sad
ways to be able to utter such a bold untruth. You had better confess at
once, and then I shall have something to tell her that will comfort he."

Conrade's dark face looked set as iron.

"Come; tell me you are sorry you took the nest, and have broken your
word, and told a falsehood."

Red colour flushed into the brown cheek, and the hands were clenched.

"There is not the smallest use in denying it. I know you took it when
you and Hubert went away together. Your Aunt Grace found it gone this
morning, and one of the poor little birds dead below. What have you done
with the others?"

Not a word.

"Then I grieve to say I must tell all to your mother."

There was a sort of smile of defiance, and he followed her. For a moment
she thought of preventing