have to do. O--o--oh!"--a prolonged scream--"he certainly has possession
of my sampler"--dancing up and down with pain--"for that needle has
gone one inch into my thumb!"

"Come here and let me bind it up," said Miss Bidwell, seizing the small
sinner as she whirled past her. "How often must I tell you not to give
way to such sinful temper? And talking about the devil is not proper for
little girls."

"Why not just as well as for older folk?" said Moppet, submitting to
have a soft bit of rag bound around the bleeding thumb. "I think the
devil ought to be prayed for if he's such an abominable sinner--yes, I
do." And Moppet, whose belief in a personal devil was evidently large,
surveyed Miss Bidwell with uncompromising eyes.

"Tut!" said Miss Bidwell, to whom this novel idea savored of
ungodliness, but wishing to be lenient toward the child whose adoring
slave she was. "Miss Euphemia would be shocked to hear you."

"I shall not tell her," said the child shrewdly, "but I am going to pray
for the devil each night, whether any one else does or not."

"As you cannot work any longer on the sampler, you had best go to Miss
Pamela for your writing lesson," said Miss Bidwell.

"Pamela is out in the orchard with Josiah Huntington," said Moppet,
"and she would send me forthwith into the house if I went near her."

"Then find Miss Betty and read her a page in the primer. You know you
promised your father you would learn to read it correctly against his