“Sally,” Mrs. Didymus would say, striving to temper severity with persuasive gentleness, “Sally! why do you behave so?”
“I dunno, mum,” Sally would reply reflectively.
“But why don’t you try to do better? Mrs. Ranger was terribly shocked by you to-day; she never took her eyes off our pew. What were you doing?”
“Nuthin’; she stared at me, so I stared at her, and now and then I’d cross my eyes at her for variety. Laws! I had the greatest mind in the world t’ get up and turn round so’s she could see my back. She seemed anxious t’ look clean through me. Mrs. Ranger! Who’s she I’d like t’ know? I’d rather be a door-keeper in thy house, than eat fresh doughnuts with Mrs. Ranger,” concluded Sally, piously loyal.
“Sally,” said Mrs. Didymus, forgetting the main issue in the magnitude of the new offence, “that sounds terribly profane. I know you don’t mean to be so, but don’t use Scripture words like that.”
“You’re tired, mum, go and lie down, and I’ll cover you up,” said Sally, imperturbably.
“But, Sally, I’m very serious about this.”
“Yes, I know, mum. Your head’s real bad, ain’t it? Lie down and I’ll make you a cup of tea. Would you like a hot soapstone to your feet?”
Mrs. Didymus desired Sally’s sanctification—she was offered hot soapstone for her feet.