us--at least twice a year--don't forget!" And, brutally before his very
eyes, she handed the sniffing and virtuous Allan two of the largest, most
goldenly beautiful oranges ever beheld by man.

Bitterly the self-exiled turned from this harrowing scene and strode
toward his box.

Here ensued a fresh complication. Nancy, who had chosen the good name of
Lillian May, wanted to go with him. She, too, it appeared, was fresh from
a Sunday-school book--one in which a girl of her own age was so proud of
her long raven curls that she was brought to an illness and all her hair
came out. There was a distressing picture of this little girl after a just
Providence had done its work as a depilatory. And after she recovered from
the fever, it seemed, she had cared to do nothing but read the Scriptures
to bed-ridden old ladies--even after a good deal of her hair came in
again--though it didn't curl this time. The only pleasure she ever
experienced thereafter was that, by virtue of her now singularly angelic
character, she was enabled to convert an elderly female Papist--an
achievement the joys of which were problematic, both to Nancy and the
little boy. Certainly, whatever converting a Papist might be, it was
nothing comparable to driving a red-and-green-and-gold wagon in which was
caged the Scourge of the Jungle.

But Nancy could not go with him. He told her so plainly. It was no place
for a girl beyond that hill where they commonly drove caged beasts, and no
one ever so much as thought of Coming to the Feet or washing in the blood
of the Lamb, or writing a good business hand with the first finger of it
pointing out, or anything.

The little girl pleaded, promising to take her new pink silk parasol, her