"What is it? A pious person thinks every one wicked but themselves, and condemns everybody and everything all round them. They are most objectionable people, little woman, so mind you never take up that line, and the worst of it is that they're so satisfied with their own goodness, that you can't crush them, try as much as you may."
"And is Uncle Edward going to be like them?" asked the child, with a perplexed face.
"I devoutly hope not. I shall do all in my power to prevent it."
"What do pious people do?" questioned Milly.
"Do! They give tracts away and sing hymns, and pull long faces over very well-bound Bibles."
"I like singing hymns," asserted Milly, very emphatically; "everybody sings hymns to God, don't they? I listen to the birds, sometimes, and wish I could sing like them; and the trees sing, and the bees and flies. Everything seems to sing out of doors in the summer time, but they've nearly all dropped asleep now till next year. What hymns do you sing, Major Lovell?"
"Bless the child! what do you take me for?" and the major laughed heartily as he spoke; then, with a twinkle in his eye, he went on gravely,—
"I shall begin to think that you are pious if you don't take care. What else do you do besides sing hymns?"
"I have a Bible," said Milly, solemnly, "and I just love it."
"And what makes you love such a dry book as the Bible? You can't understand a word of it."