a momentary pang that the characters of others
might be hurt by this teaching of the expediency of virtue, but she
forced the thought back. John, whose whole life was a lesson in the
beauty of holiness--John could not injure any one. The possibility that
he might be right in his creed simply never presented itself to her.

Helen's face had relaxed into a happy smile; again the day was fair and
the wind sweet. The garden below her was fragrant with growing things and
the smell of damp earth; and while she sat, drinking in its sweetness, a
sudden burst of children's voices reached her ear, and Ellen and the two
little boys came around the corner of the house, and settled down under
the window. A group of lilacs, with feathery purple blossoms, made a
deep, cool shade, where the children sat; and near them was an old
grindstone, streaked with rust, and worn by many summers of sharpening
scythes; a tin dipper hung on the wooden frame, nearly full of last
night's rain, and with some lilac stars floating in the water.

This was evidently a favorite playground with the children, for under the
frame of the grindstone were some corn-cob houses, and a little row of
broken bits of china, which their simple imagination transformed into
"dishes." But to-day the corn-cob houses and the dishes were untouched.

"Now, children," Ellen said, "you sit right down, and I'll hear your
catechism."

"Who'll hear yours?" Bobby asked discontentedly. "When we play school,
you're always teacher, and it's no fun."

"This isn't playing school," Ellen answered, skillfully evading the first
question. "Don't you know it's wicked to play on the Sabbath? Now sit
right down."

There was a good deal of her mother's sharpness in the way she said this,
and plucked Bobby by the strings of his pinafore, until he took an
uncomfortable seat upon an inverted flower-pot.

Ellen opened a little yellow-covered book, and began.

"Now answer, Jim! How many kinds of sin are there?"

"Two," responded little Jim.

"What are these two kinds, Bob?"

"Original and actual," Bob answered.

"What is original sin?" asked Ellen, raising one little forefinger to
keep Bobby quiet. This was too hard a question for Jim, and with some
stumbling Bobby succeeded in saying,--

"It is that sin in which I was conceived and born."

"Now, Jim," said Ellen, "you can answer this question, 'cause it's only
one word, and begins with 'y.'"

"No fair!" cried Bob; "that's telling.