“William Flynt.
“P.S.—Do you think that a maiden of your years aught to superscribe alone to Chelmsford, a city full of lewdness and abominations, where men use deceit with their tongues and the poison of asps is under their lips?”
“What are you writing, Will?” said his mother, coming in to sun herself in his holy studies.
“Nothing.” He put his hand over the page of the copy-book, forgetting she could not read it.
“Are you writing to Jinny?” she inquired suspiciously.
“No, no—-it’s Daniel,” he corrected.
“Daniel!” she said in amaze. “About the Sabbath?”
“No, about the horn,” he blurted out petulantly.
“The Horn!” She was wildly excited. “Is it the Little Horn or the Great Horn?”
He was amazed. “Well it began with the little horn——”