“Well, now, there was a little fellow, so big as me, and his name was Jofef, and his Papa made him a coat, very buful one, blue and red and buful brass buttons, like Fourth of July soldiers’ coats, only there wasn’t no pantaloons with stripes, and—and two little pockets like mine with hankshef, his Mamma put in, with his name Jack (I mean Jofef) in the corner, and he took and—and popped some corn and—er, and—er, I guess it’s your turn, Rosie.”
“Well, then, I’ll finish it. He took the popped corns out to his brethren, ten nine or twelve of them, making hay in the field, and the wicked lots of brethren just ran and tossed the poor little fellow into a pit, and took the span new coat his Papa made him, and got some dreadful-for-fair blood and dipt it in, so as to make bl’eve to their father that his dear little son was dead, and killed by the wild animals that’s raging in the dark, wild wood.—Nan, I hope there’s no wild woods in Providence. No? Well, I’m glad of it.”
“Rosie, child, what are you about?” impatiently asked Bear; “don’t you know this is Sunday-school.”
“Oh, oh yes, I forgot. Well, then, where was I? Oh, I know; the father was very sad, there was nothing to eat in the pantries, nor in the barns, only there was something about a silver cup in a bag, but, and, well—a pin seems sticking in me, Charlotte, and I believe my new little bronze boot pinches a little right behind the heel. Isn’t it most Bear’s turn?”
Bear’s story was so well and truly told, that the children’s interest was fairly roused, and Celia stole in upon them quite unobserved, with something hid under her apron.
The little Monkeys were the first to spy out the suspicious little heap, and the promise of something, speaking in old Celia’s eyes, so grew very restless during the last hymn, and whether by accident or otherwise, we don’t feel able to say, Jack sang out Amen at the end of the second verse, and fairly put an end to the Sunday-school by tipping over one of the chairs, in his eagerness to reach Celia’s lap, and stealing in his little chubby thumb
“He drew out a plum,”
in the form of a fine, red-cheeked cherry, and Celia apologized for interrupting their exercises by saying—
“I thought may be you’d just like to finish up with a Sunday-school pic-nic, so I brought you a few cherries.”
The little folk were quite ready for any change. The cherries were ripe and very delicious, and found a ready market amongst the little scholars. Then Nan good-naturedly assented to Jack’s request, who doubtfully watched Bear’s countenance as he uttered it,—