“Oh I’m so sorry to have made mamma cry,” sobbed the child.

“Sin always brings sorrow and suffering sooner or later, my little girl; remember that; and that it is because Jesus loves us that he would save us from our sins.”

After a little more talk, in which Violet repeated to him the same story of her wrong doing that she had already told her mother, her papa left her and she was again alone till mammy came with her supper—­a bowl of rich sweet milk and bread from the unbolted flour, that might have tempted the appetite of an epicure.

“Come, honey, dry dose wet eyes an’ eat yo’ supper,” said mammy, setting it out daintily on a little table which she placed before the child and covered with a fine damask cloth fresh from the iron.  “De milk’s mos’ all cream, an’ de bread good as kin be:  an’ you kin hab much as eber you want ob both ob dem.”

“Did mamma say so, mammy?”

“Yes, chile; an’ don’t shed no mo’ dose tears now; ole mammy lubs you like her life.”

“But I’ve been very naughty, mammy,” sobbed the little girl.

“Yes, Miss Wi’let, honey:  an’ we’s all been naughty, but de good Lord forgib us for Jesus’ sake if we’s sorry an’ don’t ’tend neber to do so no mo’.”

“Yes, mammy, Oh I wish you could stay with me I but you musn’t:  for mamma said I must be all alone.”

“Yes, darlin’; an’ if you wants mo’ supper, jes ring dis, an’ mammy’ll come.”

She placed a small silver bell on the table beside Vi, and with a tender, compassionate look at the tear-swollen face, went away.

The young Travillas were sometimes denied dainties because of misconduct, but always allowed to satisfy their youthful appetites with an abundance of wholesome, nourishing food.

Vi ate her supper with a keen relish, and found herself greatly comforted by it.  How much one’s views of life are brightened by a good comfortable meal that does not overtax the digestive organs.  Vi suddenly remembered with a feeling of relief that the worst of her trouble—­the confession—­was over, and the punishment nearly so.

It was only a little while till mamma came, took her on her lap, kissed and forgave her.

“Mamma, I’m so, so sorry for having disobeyed and grieved you!” whispered the child, weeping afresh:  “for I do love you very, very much, my own mamma.”

“I know it, dearest; but I want you to be far more sorry for having disobeyed God, who loves you more, a great deal, than your parents do, and has given you every good thing you have.”

“Yes, mamma, I’ve asked God many times to forgive me for Jesus’s sake, and I think he has.”

“Yes, if you asked with your heart, I am sure he has; for Jesus said, ’Verily, verily, I say unto you, Whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, he will give it you.’”

There was a little pause, Vi nestling close in her mother’s arms; then with a quiver in her voice, “Mamma,” she sighed, “will you ever trust me again?”