n eager voice cried:

"Yas'm, I know! Lord give Moses ten tallers, an' he duveled 'em."

Before Mrs. Wiggs could enter into an argument concerning this new
version of sacred history, she was hit in the eye with a paper wad.
It was aimed at Billy, but when he dodged she became the victim.
This caused some delay, for she had to bathe the injured member, and
during the interval the Sunday-school became riotous.

"Mith Wiggs, make Tommy thop thpittin' terbaccer juice in my hat!"

"Miss Wiggs, I know who hit you!"

"Teacher, kin I git a drink?"

It was not until Mrs. Wiggs, with a stocking tied over her eye,
emerged from the bedroom and again took command that order was
restored.

"Where is Bethlehem?" she began, reading from an old lesson-paper.

"You kin search me!" promptly answered Chris.

She ignored his remark, and passed to the next, who said, half
doubtfully:

"Ain't it in Alabama?"

"No, it's in the Holy Land," she said.

A sudden commotion arose in the back of the room. Billy, by a series
of skilful manoeuvers, had succeeded in removing the chair that held
one of the planks, and a cascade of small, indignant girls were
tobogganing sidewise down the incline. A fight was imminent, but
before any further trouble occurred Mrs. Wiggs locked Billy in the
bedroom, and became mistress of the situation.

"What I think you childern need is a talk about fussin' an'
fightin'. There ain't no use in me teachin' what they done a
thousand years ago, when you ain't got manners enough to listen at
what I am sayin'. I recollect one time durin' the war, when the
soldiers was layin' 'round the camp, tryin' they best to keep from
freezin' to death, a preacher come 'long to hold a service. An' when
he got up to preach he sez, 'Friends,' sez he, 'my tex' is
Chillblains. They ain't no use a-preachin' religion to men whose
whole thought is set on their feet. Now, you fellows git some
soft-soap an' pour it in yer shoes, an' jes' keep them shoes on till
yer feet gits well, an' the nex' time I come 'round yer minds'll be
better prepared to receive the word of the Lord.' Now, that's the
way I feel 'bout this here Sunday-school. First an' fo'most, I am
goin' to learn you all manners. Jes' one thought I want you to take
away, an' that is, it's sinful to fuss. Ma use' to say livin' was
like quiltin'--you orter keep the peace an' do 'way with the
scraps. Now, what do I want you all to remember?"

"Don't fuss!" came the prompt ans