"Ugh!" cried Sally, with a shudder, "that was in Puritan days, truly."

"I do not crave the hot bodkin," said Betty, laughing. "Miss Bidwell's
tales are a trifle gruesome, Moppet."

"But I always do love a flimming tale, Betty" (this was Moppet's
invariable rendering of the word "thrilling," which her lips had never
yet conquered), "and some of them are most bloody ones, I assure you.
Oh, Betty, Betty, what _shall_ I do when you are gone!" and with a
sudden realization of her loss, Moppet gave a quick sob which went to
Betty's heart.

"Nay, sweetheart, be a brave little maid," she answered, fighting a
small lump in her own throat. "I would I could take you with me; but as
I cannot, you must hasten to learn how to make better pot-hooks and
write me letters, which Aunt Euphemia will forward with hers. And,
Moppet, I think I shall give you in special charge to Sally; how will
that please you?"

"I love Sally," said the child simply, as the tender-hearted Sally knelt
down beside her. "Will you help console me with my primer and that
altogether dreadful sampler when my Betty is away?"

"Indeed will I," replied Sally, much amused with Moppet's view of the
sampler; "and you shall come and see me every fine day, and the wet ones
I am sure to be here with Pamela, who has proclaimed her intention of
adopting me when Betty goes. And now I must be going, for it is nearly
the dinner hour, and my mother says as I have dined here three days she
bespeaks my presence for one out of four. So farewell until to-morrow,