Miss Vilda handed Timothy a little green-paper-covered book, before she climbed into the buggy. "That's a catechism," she said; "and if you'll be a good boy and learn the first six pages, and say 'em to me this afternoon, Samantha 'll give you a top that you can spin on week days."
"What is a catechism?" asked Timothy, as he took the book.
"It's a Sunday-school lesson."
"Oh, then I can learn it," said Timothy, brightening; "I learned three for Miss Dora, in the city."
"Well, I'm thankful to hear that you've had some spiritual advantages; now, stay right here in the orchard till Jabe comes; and don't set the house afire," she added, as Samantha took the reins and raised them for the mighty slap on Maria's back which was necessary to wake her from her Sunday slumber.
"Why would I want to set the house afire?" Timothy asked wonderingly.
"Well, I don't know 's you would want to, but I thought you might get to playin' with matches, though I've hid 'em all."
"Play with matches!" exclaimed Timothy, in wide-eyed astonishment that a match could appeal to anybody as a desirable plaything. "Oh, no, thank you; I shouldn't have thought of it."
"I don't know as we ought to have left 'em alone," said Vilda, looking back, as Samantha urged the moderate Maria over the road; "though I don't know exactly what they could do."
"Except run away," said Samantha reflectively.