"

"How dat gwine henda you have a beau ef you'se religious?"

"The religious never get married," turning very red, "and don't live
in the world like others."

"Look heah, chile, you t'inks I'se fool? Religion--no religion, whar
you gwine live ef you don' live in de word? Gwine live up in de moon?"

"You're a very ignorant person," replied Lucilla, highly offended. "A
religious devotes her life to God, and lives in the convent."

"Den w'y you neva said 'convent'? I knows all 'bout convent. W'at you
gwine do wid dem ax w'en de papah done all fill up?" handing the
singular tablet back to her.

"Oh," replied Lucilla, "when I have thousands and thousands I gain
twenty-five years' indulgence."

"Is dat so?"

"Yes," said the girl; and divining that Aunt Belindy had not
understood, "twenty-five years that I don't have to go to purgatory.
You see most people have to spend years and years in purgatory, before
they can get to Heaven."

"How you know dat?"

If Aunt Belindy had asked Lucilla how she knew that the sun shone, she
could not have answered with more assurance "because I know" as she
turned and walked rather scornfully away.

"W'at dat kine o' fool talk dey larns gals up yonda tu Sent Lous? An'
huh ma a putty woman; yas, bless me; all dress up fittin' to kill.
Don' 'pear like she studyin' 'bout ax."

XI

A Social Evening.

Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Duplan with their little daughter Ninette, who had
been invited to Place-du-Bois for supper, as well as for the evening,
were seated with Therese in the parlor, awaiting the arrival of the
cottage guests. They had left their rather distant plantation, Les
Chenieres, early in the afternoon, wishing as usual to make the most
of these visits, which, though infrequent, were always so much
enjoyed.

The room was somewhat altered since that summer day when Therese had
sat in its cool shadows, hearing the story of David Hosmer's life.
Only with such difference, however, as the change of season called
for; imparting to it a rich warmth that invited to sociability and
friendly confidences. In the depths of the great chimney glowed with a
steady and dignified heat, the huge back-log, whose disposal Uncle
Hiram had superintended in person; and the leaping flames from the dry
hickories that surrounded it, lent a very genial light to the
grim-visaged Lafirmes who looked down from their elevation on the
interesting group gathered about the hearth.

Conversation had