“Yes,” Janice whispered. “She put it in the fire. Dadda saw her.”
“And we’ll never know if Amaryllis explained that she had ever loved him,” groaned Tabitha.
“If ever I get the chance!” remarked Janice, suggestively.
“Oh, Jan!” cried Tabitha, ecstatically. “Would n’t it be delightsome to be loved by a peasant, and to find he was a prince and that he had disguised himself to test thy love?”
“’T would be better fun to know he was a prince and torture him by pretending you did n’t care for him,” replied Janice. “Men are so teasable.”
“There’s Philemon Hennion doffing his hat to us, Jan.”
“The great big gawk!” exclaimed Janice. “Does he want another dish of tea?” A question which set both girls laughing.
“Janice! Tabitha!” rebuked Mrs. Meredith. “Don’t be flippant on the Sabbath.”
The two faces assumed demureness, and, filing into the Presbyterian meeting-house, their owners apparently gave strict heed to a sermon of the Rev. Alexander McClave, which was later issued from the press of Isaac Collins, at Burlington, under the title of:—
“The Doleful State of the Damned, Especially such as go to Hell from under the Gospel.”