"Finished? I hadn't even begun"

"Oh-h, darling, why didn't you _tell_ me?"

"Because I--I don't know."

"Well, I'm glad my little girl didn't snatch and push. It's better to go
without than to take from other people. That's ugly."

Ugly. Being naughty was just that. Doing ugly things. Being good was being
beautiful like Mamma. She wanted to be like her mother. Sitting up there
and being good felt delicious. And the smooth cream with the milk running
under it, thin and cold, was delicious too.

Suddenly a thought came rushing at her. There was God and there was Jesus.
But even God and Jesus were not more beautiful than Mamma. They couldn't
be.

"You mustn't say things like that, Hatty; you mustn't, really. It might
make something happen."

"Oh, no, it won't. You don't suppose they're listening all the time."

Saying things like that made you feel good and at the same time naughty,
which was more exciting than only being one or the other. But Mamma's
frightened face spoiled it. What did she think--what did she think God
would do?

Red campion----