Part 31 (1/2)

”Now, Jim,” said Ellen, ”you can answer this question, 'cause it's only one word, and begins with 'y.'”

”No fair!” cried Bob; ”that's telling.”

But Ellen proceeded to give the question: ”Doth original sin wholly defile you, and is it sufficient to send you to h.e.l.l, though you had no other sin?”

”Yes!” roared Jim, pleased at being certainly right.

”What are you then by nature?” Ellen went on rather carelessly, for she was growing tired of the lesson.

”I am an enemy to G.o.d, a child of Satan, and an heir of h.e.l.l,” answered Bobby promptly.

”What will become of the wicked?” asked the little catechist.

Bobby yawned, and then said contemptuously, ”Oh, skip that,--cast into h.e.l.l, of course.”

”You ought to answer right,” Ellen said reprovingly, but she was glad to give the last question, ”What will the wicked do forever in h.e.l.l?”

”They will roar, curse, and blaspheme G.o.d,” said little Jim cheerfully; while Bobby, to show his joy that the lesson was done, leaned over on his flower-pot, and tried to stand on his head, making all the time an unearthly noise.

”I'm roarin'!” he cried gayly.

Ellen, freed from the responsibility of teaching, put the little yellow book quickly in her pocket, and said mysteriously, ”Boys, if you won't ever tell, I'll tell you something.”

”I won't,” said Jim, while Bobby responded briefly, ”G'on.”

”Well, you know when the circus came,--you know the pictures on the fences?”

”Yes!” said the little boys together.

”'Member the beautiful lady, ridin' on a horse, and standin' on one foot?”

”Yes!” the others cried, breathlessly.

”Well,” said Ellen slowly and solemnly, ”when I get to be a big girl, that's what I'm going to be. I'm tired of catechism, and church, and those long blessings father asks, but most of catechism, so I'm going to run away, and be a circus.”

”Father'll catch you,” said Jim; but Bobby, with envious depreciation, added,--

”How do you know but what circuses have catechism?”

Ellen did not notice the lack of sympathy. ”And I'm going to begin to practice now,” she said.

Then, while her brothers watched her, deeply interested, she took off her shoes, and in her well-darned little red stockings climbed deliberately upon the grindstone.

”This is my horse,” she said, balancing herself, with outstretched arms, on the stone, and making it revolve in a queer, jerky fas.h.i.+on by pressing her feet on it as though it were a treadmill, ”and it is bare-backed!”

The iron handle came down with a thud, and Ellen lurched to keep from falling; the boys unwisely broke into cheers.

It made a pretty picture, the sunbeams sifting through the lilacs on the little fair heads, and dancing over Ellen's white ap.r.o.n and rosy face; but Mrs. Grier, who had come to the door at the noise of the cheers, did not stop to notice it.

”Oh, you naughty children!” she cried. ”Don't you know it is wicked to play on the Sabbath? Ellen's playing circus, do you say, Bobby? You naughty, naughty girl! Don't you know circus people are all wicked, and don't go to heaven when they die? I should think you'd be ashamed! Go right up-stairs, Ellen, and go to bed; and you boys can each learn a psalm, and you'll have no supper, either,--do you hear?”

The children began to cry, but Mrs. Grier was firm; and when, a little later, Helen came down-stairs, ready for her ride, the house was strangely quiet. Mrs. Grier, really troubled at her children's sinfulness, confided their misdeeds to Helen, and was not soothed by the smile that flashed across her face.