“I don't know how to knit,” stammered Letitia.
Then there was another cry of astonishment. Goodwife Hopkins cast about her for another task for this ignorant guest.
“Explain the doctrine of predestination,” said she suddenly.
Letitia jumped up and stared at her with scared eyes.
“Don't you know what predestination is?” demanded Goodwife Hopkins.
“No, ma'am,” half sobbed Letitia.
Her great-great-grandmother and her great-great-aunts made shocked exclamations, and her great-great-great-grandmother looked at her with horror. “You have been brought up as one of the heathen,” said she. Then she produced a small book, and Letitia was bidden to seat herself upon a stool and learn the doctrine of predestination before breakfast.
The kitchen was lighted only by one tallow candle and the firelight, for it was still far from dawn. Letitia drew her little stool close to the hearth, and bent anxiously over the fire-lit page. She committed to memory easily, and repeated the text like a frightened parrot when she was called upon.
“The child has good parts, though she is woefully ignorant,” said Goodwife Hopkins aside to her husband. “It shall be my care to instruct her.”
Letitia, having completed her task, was given her breakfast. It was only a portion of corn-meal porridge in a pewter plate. She had never had such a strange breakfast in her life, and she did not like corn-meal. She sat with it untasted before her.