"I don' want to hear you sing no hymn," said Billy impolitely.
"I wants to see Sanctified Sophy shout."

As his aunt could think of no substitute with which to tempt
him in lieu of Sanctified Sophy's shouting, she remained silent.

"An' I wants Wilkes Booth Lincoln to dance a clog," persisted
her nephew.

Miss Minerva still remained silent. She felt unable to cope
with the situation till she had adjusted her thoughts and made
her plans.

Presently Billy, looking at her shrewdly, said:

"Gimme my rabbit foot, Aunt Minerva, an' I'll go right off to
sleep."

When she again looked in on him he was fast asleep, a rosy
flush on his babyish, tearstained cheek, his red lips half
parted, his curly head pillowed on his arm, and close against his
soft, young throat there nestled the left hind foot of a rabbit.

Miss Minerva's bed time was half after nine o'clock, summer or
winter. She had hardly varied a second in the years that had
elapsed since the runaway marriage of her only relative, the
young sister whose child had now come to live with her. But on
the night of Billy's arrival the stern, narrow woman sat for
hours in her rocking chair, her mind busy with thoughts of that