"Where my father did, generally," says I.
She looked at me queerly from under her sugar-scoop.
"Haven't backslid, nor nothing; because, if you have, remember, before it is too late, that the last state of a backsliding sinner is worse than the first."
LXXXVI.
THE BLACKSMITH'S CONVERSION.
BEFORE I could answer that audacious woman, a man came along with green spectacles on his eyes, and a broad straw hat on his head.
"What, sister, hard at work? got hold of a case, I reckon; but press forward to the mark of the prize."
"Oh, brother," says Sugar-scoop, "can't you stop a moment, and sow a morsel of seed on this barren rock. This is a precious sheep."
"Lamb, if you please," says I, quickly.