"And all those put in authority over you," proceeded Polly, shaking her
fingers free, and facing round on Firefly, in a way which caused that
young person to back several inches. "If Helen once gets the authority
the Catechism is on her side, not on yours."

"But I needn't promise, need I?" pouted Firefly. "If it was you, it
would be different. I always did what you wanted me to do, Polly
Perkins."

"Of course you did," responded Polly, in a most contemptuous voice.
"Will a duck swim? I led you into mischief--of course you followed.
Well, Fly, it rests with yourself. Don't obey our dear, good, gentle
Nelly, and you'll have Miss Jenkins here. Won't it be fun to see her
squinting at you over her spectacles when she returns your
spelling-lessons. Bread and water will be your principal diet most of
the week. Well, good-by now; I'm off to baby."

Polly took to her heels, and Firefly stood for a moment or two looking
utterly miserable and irresolute on the wide gravel walk in the center
of the flower-garden. She felt very much inclined to stamp her feet and
to screw up her thin little face into contortions of rage. Even very
little girls, however, won't go into paroxysms of anger when there is no
one there to see. Firefly's heart was very sore, for Polly, her idol,
had spoken to her almost roughly.

"I wish mother wasn't in heaven," she murmured in a grieved little
voice, and then she turned and walked back to the house. The nearer she
approached the study window the faster grew her footsteps. At last, like
a little torrent, she vaulted back into the room, and flung her arms