grasshopper for a long time, then when he dies his little soul will go
into a better body--perhaps a butterfly's body next time."

Eleanor caught the thought instantly. "And if he's a good butterfly,
then what'll he be? A hummin'-bird? Let's kill him quick, and see him
turn into a butterfly."

"Oh, no, Eleanor, you can't force the situation. He has to live out his
little grasshopper life the best that he can, before he's good enough to
be a butterfly. If you kill him now you might send him backward. He
might turn into what he was before--a poor little blind worm perhaps."

"Oh, my Lawd!" said Eleanor.

The Bishop was still a moment, and then repeated, quietly:

Slay not the meanest creature, lest thou slay
Some humble soul upon its upward way.

"Oughtn't to talk to yourself," Eleanor shook her head disapprovingly.
"'Tisn't so very polite. Is that true about the grasshopper, Bishop, or
is it a whopper?"

The Bishop thought for a moment. "I don't know, Eleanor," he answered,
gently.

"You don't know so very much, do you?" inquired Eleanor, not as
despising but as wondering, sympathizing with ignorance.

"Very little," the Bishop agreed. "And I've tried to learn, all my