thing. And yet—yet—if it were a promise to do anything wrong, it could not be kept. I don't know exactly what to say. You see, it never could be right to break one's word, but then it might be even more wrong to do the thing promised. But why ask me, Dessie? You know as well as

I do."

66

No, I don't. I don't know half so much as you do about such things. Even if I did, I should like to hear what you thought. I always like to hear other people's opinions for the sake of arguing, mamma would say."

"I don't wish to argue about it."

"I don't either, but I have the puzzle in my head, and I want to have it put straight. Suppose, for instance, that one had made a promise not to tell of something wrong which somebody else had done, and that the promise ought not to have been made, for the thing ought to be known. What then? Should the promise be kept or not?"

"I can't tell," said Emmie, after a pause. "It depends on so many matters."

"Well," said Dessie carelessly, "here is another point. Suppose keeping the promise might do a great deal of harm, and breaking it might prevent the harm?

"Why, no, I didn't mean that. Harm to another -a helpless person, for instance, knowing nothing about all this."

"I wish you would ask somebody else," said Emmie. "I cannot think what has put the idea

into your head. It looks as if some one had told you a story of something real of the kind."

"Perhaps somebody has. Oh, it does not matter, Em. I was merely curious to know how the question would strike you."

"Deep in metaphysics?" asked Harry's voice from behind, and he came close. "What a pair of

grave faces!"

CHAPTER XIX.

THROWN OUT.

"O HARRY, how you startled me!" exclaimed

Emmeline.

"Such was not my intention. both discussing so earnestly?

Homer, to wit?"

What are you Ancient history and

"Bertie has told you that story, I suppose," said Dessie, laughing, and hoping to escape an explanation; but Emmie was too full of the subject to be lightly turned aside.

"We were talking about keeping promises," she said, "and we are rather puzzled. I wish you

could help us."

"Promises!" Harry repeated. "What kind of

"Any kind.

At least, it was any kind at first, and then some particular kinds."

"Put your case before me, and I will do my best to give an opinion."

"It was Dessie's case, not mine," said Emmeline.

"My case!" repeated Dessie, with an odd start. Then she recollected herself, and added, with a

L

forced laugh, "Oh, well-yes-of course-I suppose I did suggest it."

We

"Yes, dear, it was you, not I. But I think I want to know about it as much as you do. were talking about promises in general, Harry, and whether a bad promise ought to be kept or broken. What do you think?"

"I am afraid I must ask you to define what you mean by a 'bad promise.'

That is the ques

"A promise which never ought to have been made," said Emmie. "When once it is made, ought one to be bound by it? tion. Can it ever be right to deliberately?"

break one's word

"It can never be right to break one's word, unless deliberately," said Harry. "Never do it hastily, at all events. If you do it at all, do it deliberately. Looking at the matter broadly, we may say, and say with truth, that it is never right to break one's word. But circumstances may occur in which, though to break one's word would be wrong, to keep it would be still more wrong. Such a pro

mise never ought to have been given. Once given, however, we are driven to the query-Where lies the shortest path out of the difficulty? If I have promised to commit an act which is distinctly a sin, I have already sinned in giving the promise; but to keep it would be to add sin to sin."

"Yes, if one had promised to rob or murder," said Emmie. "But it wasn't exactly that sort of thing that Dessie meant. She was fancying a case when one has made a promise thoughtlessly to

another to hide something, and afterwards one finds out that the promise was wrong, and that the keeping of the secret must do harm to somebody. Wasn't that what you meant, dear?"

"Something like it," said Dessie carelessly.

"It is not easy to give a definite answer to so very vague a proposition," said Harry. "There are usually certain minor circumstances involved which help to alter the complexion of each particular case. As a general rule, I am inclined to doubt whether a promise of that description, hastily given and afterwards found to be wrong, ought to be strictly kept. Every effort should be made to be released from it by the person to whom it was made. leave were, however, refused, and if there were no other means of preventing evil consequences except by breaking it, I think that one's duty might be to break it, though care should be taken not to involve, further than is absolutely necessary, the name of the person whose share in the matter was to have been concealed."

If

"And I suppose," said Dessie-"I suppose that if the promise had been already kept so long that the harm was done and couldn't be undone—I suppose you would not think then that it ought to be broken without leave, even though it was a promise which ought not to have been made?"

"It

"I really hardly know how to answer you, Dessie," said Harry, surprised at her earnestness. should never be forgotten that a promise is a very sacred thing, never to be lightly put aside. I do not think that the solemn nature of one's given