THAT day at luncheon Sara opened a corner of her secret mind. It was one of those small happenings that pass unobserved at the time and whose significance is seen later. She was swinging her feet to and fro under the table. Playing with the dog, was what Sara was doing. The part of her visible above the table, sat up company, fashion and ate its food as well as could be expected, while her out-of-sight legs indecorously gamboled back and forth.
"Are you playing with the dog with your feet, under the table, Sara?" cried Alice.
"No," answered Sara. "Why, yes; I am, too."
"That's a good little girl to say you are," responded Alice encouragingly.
There was a moment's pause, and then Sara opened the door of her mind a crack by inquiring:
"Why was I a good little girl?"
One would think that she had worked crescendo through the whole cycle of lies. So far, however, Sara had been an artist. She seemed to lie for the sake of lying. From this Tom sometimes derived a sad satisfaction. He was inclined in these days to be pessimistic about his daughter. But he tried his hardest to overcome her tendency, for it hurts a man's self-esteem to have said, "Let there be light," and not have even a ray of dawn. So, several times lately Tom had taken Sara on his knees and had had conversations that went:
"You must always tell the truth, Sara dear." Sara nodded sagely. "I would rather have you do anything
