Aunt.

Now, Beth, this is the Sabbath day, and—

Niece. How do you know it is?

A. It is wrong to play to-day, Beth—

N. Wrong to play what?

A. Anything.

N. Tain’t wrong to play Sunday-school. Didn’t you wish dat Carlo was me when you was whippin’ him, jest now, Aunt Dora?

A. Beth, I’ll tell you a beautiful story, the tender story of Joseph.