"See what I have bought for somebody!"

Uncle John held out in his hand a morocco case lined with dark blue velvet, containing a small watch, while his nephew and two nieces, John, Emma and Maud, came closer to get a better look, and uttered exclamations of surprise and delight.

"Who is it for?" said Emma, "Is it for brother?" asked Maud in the same breath; though John, feeling very certain that the watch was intended for him, remained silent, anxiously awaiting his uncle's reply.

"I can't tell yet," said Uncle John.

"Not tell, uncle? is it a secret? Isn't the watch yours? and can't you give it to any one you please?" asked John, hastily.

"The watch is mine, I bought it, and I can give it to any one I please; and I will tell you now how I shall please to give it. I intend staying with you two weeks, and at the end of that time this watch shall be given to the child I find the most truthful."

"Oh, uncle," interrupted Emma, "none of us are liars!"

"I hope not, my dears. But I shall be very particular, and watch closely for the slightest deviation from the plain truth, and will give, as I have said, the watch to the child I find to be the most truthful."

"You will have to give us all one, then," said his namesake, "for I am sure I speak the truth, and Emma and Maud are very truthful, for mamma has often said so."

"I always try to be," said Maud in a low voice.

"Well, well, we will see," continued Uncle John. "And perhaps I will have to give you each one like this." He closed the case and put it out of sight, and John marched off to school thinking how grand he would feel carrying the watch around with him to show to his admiring friends, and even hinted the probability to some of them. His Latin lesson was not perfect, and after recitation his teacher called him:

"John, will you promise me that this lesson shall be learned for to-morrow?"

"Oh yes! I will certainly study it to-night, and know it perfectly," was John's ready reply.

That night his father inquired about his lessons. John coloured a little as he said: "I knew all but my Latin; I promised I would study that to-night." He intended doing so, but left it until the last, because it was the hardest; then a friend came in, and John went with him to the parlour, where the family were sitting, to show him a new book.

"What time is it?" asked Emma.

"I did not look at the clock when I came down," said John.

"When you get your new watch you won't have to stop to look at the clock," said his friend.

"His watch!" exclaimed Emma; "he is not certain of getting it."

"Oh!" said the friend; "I thought his uncle had promised to give him one."

"Not exactly," interrupted John hastily, knowing that Uncle John could hear all that was going on. "There are certain conditions."

"Oh!" And his friend said no more.

"How about the Latin lesson to-day?" asked Uncle John, the next evening, to his nephew's great confusion, as he replied:

"Well, uncle, the truth is, I forgot it last night, but I mean to take it up the first thing this evening." And he did so, finding that the hardest lesson is the easiest when learned first. "I know it perfectly, perfectly. Emma, just hear me, and see if I do not."

Emma was standing by the window as she took the book and heard it for him, and they stood together looking out at the passers-by.

"Here comes Mary Baker, I do believe," said Emma. Maud ran to the window, and was very much disappointed when she did not see her friend coming, as she expected.

"April fool!" said Emma. And they both laughed at Maud's disappointment.

"But it is not April, brother," said Maud in an aggrieved tone.

"Why, you silly little thing," exclaimed Emma, "I was only in fun. If I were to say, 'Here comes Queen Victoria,' you wouldn't be goose enough to believe it, would you?"

"No; but you see Queen Victoria would not be walking down the street, and I have been expecting Mary every minute;" and Maud's eyes were almost filled with tears.

"Come, puss, don't think any more about it." John put his arm affectionately around his sister's neck. "Emma, what has that man in his wagon?"

They were both looking with great curiosity at the wagon coming toward the house when John heard his father call him.

"In a second, sir," he replied; but sixty seconds passed, and he heard his father again. "Yes, yes, sir, in a minute;" but five minutes were gone before he obeyed, and then he found that his father had left.

"There! you don't know what you missed," Emma said, significantly. "I heard father say he had something in his pocket for somebody."

"It was not for John, you know," interrupted Maud, "for we heard mother say so."

"Well, little telltale, we must be on our p's and q's before you, my darling."

The day before Uncle John's visit ended he was sitting in the bay window, partly concealed by a curtain. It was twilight, and the three children came into the room together. On the centre-table there were some wax flowers covered with a glass case. Their mother prized them very highly, and had repeatedly told the children to be careful and not touch or knock the table.

"Oh, I wish I could bring Carlo in here," said John, "just to show you how the boys have taught him to stand on his two hind legs and beg. There he is in the hall now."

"Don't call him in," Emma said. "You know mother don't like it."

"No, I sha'n't call him, though I know he would not hurt anything."

John did not call him, but he gave a low whistle. Carlo understood it perfectly, and came bounding into the room. "Out, out, sir!" and John tried to order him back, but Carlo thought this was mere play, and jumped and frisked about until he came near the table, when away went the flowers and case with a crash. The children looked at each other in dismay.

"Oh, John, what will mother say?" said Emma, reproachfully.

"It is not my fault, Emma."

"Yes, but you whistled for Carlo."

"I did not know he would come in, though." And John tried to drive Carlo out in earnest, and succeeded after a good deal of shouting and scampering, and the children left the room unconscious that Uncle John had witnessed the accident.

"I am very sorry this has happened," said their mother at tea-table. "Carlo must not be allowed to come in the hall. Of course, I cannot blame any of you, as you did not call him in, but I am very sorry it happened."

"So am I," said Uncle John—"very sorry indeed. What has Maud to say about this?"

"Maud I did not ask. She was in the room, and Emma and John told me how it happened."

"Maud, my dear," Uncle John said, "did any one call Carlo in the room? Look straight in my eyes and tell me, little one."

Maud's cheeks became rosier; she hesitated a moment, and then said softly: "Brother whistled, but he said he did not mean that Carlo should hear him."

"You should have told me this before," said their mother, reproachfully. "I always want to hear the whole truth."

"So do I," said Uncle John. "And now I will put on my spectacles and read you all a few notes I have taken during my visit, and then we shall decide who deserves the watch. Let me see, John is oldest: I will read what I have against him: A promise to a teacher to study a lesson—did not do it. He tells a friend he is to have a watch at the end of two weeks—that remains to be seen. He tells his father he will come in one second, then in one minute—did not go for five or ten. He whistles for a dog to come into the room, and, I fear, would let punishment fall on the poor animal, and by silence implies falsehood. That is all I have against him. Now for Emma: I heard her telling her mother she did not have a minute of time to spare, and was idle for an hour after; said her biscuit, one morning, was burnt as black as a coal—it was only very brown; said one time she was roasting, another time starving, and again dying, and one day was in dreadful agony when she scratched her finger; one morning tells Maud that her friend was coming up the street when there was no person in sight. Come! I await the verdict: to whom shall I give the watch? Which of you thinks you most deserve to have it?"

"Oh, Uncle John, we did not mean to tell stories," exclaimed Emma and John, with burning cheeks.

"No, my dear; I am glad to say neither you nor John have been guilty of telling lies, but I promised to give it to the most truthful."

"Maud deserves it," cried all.

"Yes, Maud deserves it. Here, little one; we know you would rather not take it, but it belongs to you. I do not want to be severe, but I love and prize perfect truth above everything else. And if we are truthful in small matters, we can never be false and dishonest in great ones; but if we allow falsehood to take even a small lodging-place in our hearts, it will be a plague-spot that will spread and poison the soul and ruin character. Whatever it may cause you at the time, cling to the truth, and you will never regret it, for it is the sure and firm foundation-stone of every noble character."