I'll never tell a story about it, but I don't see any harm in just getting the things away and saying nothing.

'Taint as if you were throwing the blame on somebody else," pursued Meta, gathering up the articles abstracted from the closet and replacing them, as nearly as possible as she had found them.
"Come, dry your eyes, Vi," she went on, "or somebody'll see you've been crying and ask what it was about." "But I must tell mamma," reiterated the little girl, sobbing anew.
"And make her feel worried and sorry because the plate's broken, when it can't do any good, and she needn't ever know about it.

I call that real selfishness." This, to Vi, was a new view of the situation.

She stopped crying to consider it.
It certainly would grieve mamma to know that the plate was broken, and perhaps even more to hear of her child's disobedience, and if not told she would be spared all that pain.
But on the other hand, mamma had always taught her children that wrong doing should never be concealed.

The longer Vi pondered the question the more puzzled she grew.
Meta perceived that she wavered and immediately seized her advantage.
"Come now, Vi, I'm sure you don't want to give pain to your mamma, or to get me into trouble.