hung afore she died; as it is, she's sure to get her death in
some queer way, with all them outlandish goings on of her'n." Having
given vent to her feelings, and settled poor Polly's fate to her own
satisfaction, Deacon Jones's wife proceeded to relate the particulars of
the latest scandal to Sallie Perkins, the village gossip.

Mrs. Jones--alas that I am forced to say it!--was not alone in her
convictions. The majority of the inhabitants of L---- would have assured
you, with a solemn shake of the head, that Polly Clark was, without
exception, the "most ornery youngster" that ever was born, and "sech a
pity, too, that Squire Clark's only child should be sech an everlastin'
worrit to him." And yet a look at Polly would disarm suspicion. A more
gentle, lovable-looking girl it would be difficult to find; but then we
all know that appearances are deceitful. At church on Sunday she looked
so fair and innocent, always paying such good attention to the sermon,
and gazing so earnestly at the minister with those clear, soft brown
eyes of hers, as if _so_ anxious to understand every word he uttered,
that the uninitiated would be ready to declare that hers was indeed a
heart without guile. But those who knew her best were well aware that
behind this calm exterior was a mind in which the love of mischief
reigned supreme, and for aught they knew, at the very moment when she
seemed most impressed by the minister's arguments, she had unexpectedly
thought of some brilliant plan that promised ill for the peace of mind
of some intended victim. Indeed, as poor nervous little Mrs. Clark said,
"No one ever knows what Polly is going to do next. I never get up in the
morning but I dread what may happen before night. I don't even feel safe
about her after she goes to bed, since the time she went into the woods
in the middle of the night to try some trick or other with a dead cat,
thinking, silly child, that in that way she could cure a wart she had on
her thumb. But then," Mrs. Clark always adds, "Polly is always so
good-tempered when she is scolded for doing wrong, and seems really to
be so sorry about it, that I can't help forgiving her, and hoping she
will do better next time. But she don't; she keeps on doing the most
dreadful things, and--" And here the poor little woman generally broke
down completely, and wept bitterly over the unaccountable depravity of
her only child.

As her mother said, Polly did indeed do "dreadful things." Many