"Nobody knows," replied Cecile, grimly; "but I guess--"
"Benny," broke in Dorothy, "read your lesson! Cecile, stop your chatter!" And Benny, cheerful and sceptical, read his lines:
"When by thpectators I behold
What beauty doth adorn me,
Or in a glath when I behold
How thweetly God did form me.
Hath God thuch comeliness bethowed
And on me made to dwell?--
What pity thuch a pretty maid
Ath I thoud go to hell!"
And Benny giggled.
"Benjamin," said Cecile, in an awful voice, "are you not terrified at what you read?"
"Huh!" said Benny, "I'm not a 'pretty maid'; I'm a boy."
"It's all the same, little dunce!" insisted Cecile.
"Doeth God thay little boyth are born to be damned?" he asked, uneasily.
"No, no," interrupted Dorothy; "God saves His elect, I tell you. Don't you remember what He says?
"'You sinners are, and such a share
As sinners may expect;
Such you shall have; for I do save
None but my own elect.'