bad place."

"Well, I ain't," said the black-headed twin stoutly.

"Me neither," promptly echoed her sister.

Their brother regarded them darkly. "You can't never tell," he
answered ominously. "You'd better look out, when the minister's
'round. He ast Billy Winters if he'd got his soul saved."

"His sole?" The fair-haired twin looked down at the flapping and worn
foundation of the shoes so lately purchased, and then at the family
oracle.

"Aw, it ain't your boot-sole," he said disdainfully; "it's somethin' in
your insides; an' if ye don't get it fixed up, an' saved, the
minister'll send ye to the bad place, sure. He'll ast ye about it," he
added threateningly.

This was too much for the courage of the twins. Even the charms of the
gingerbread and their new plaid dresses could scarcely compensate for
the terrors of that occult something concerning whose mysteries the
minister would be sure to inquire.

Their brother was backing through the hole in the fence. "He'll tell
ye ye've gotter to be awful good, too," he added, more explicitly.

That settled it. This was something one could understand, and was not
to be tolerated for a moment. The twins made a dive after him, and the
three did not stop running until they began to roll down the bank of
the ravine. When they were safely hidden in the green depths Tim
delivered his ultimatum. "Yous two kids ain't goin' to tag after me,
mind ye that," and swaggered away.

The black-haired twin stood for a moment glaring after him, in dark
rebellion. She opened her mouth to scream imprecations, but thought
better of it. Tim had a long memory, and an uncomfortable way of
exacting penalties for any such indignity. She soothed her outraged
feelings somewhat by throwing a stone after the little, limping figure,
her erratic aim saving her from discovery.

"Le's go an' play lady," said the fair-haired twin comfortingly. "I
bar be Elsie Cameron."

"No, you don't!" cried her stronger-minded sister. "I'm goin' to be
Elsie. You can be old Arabella Winters, an' you can have Rebekah for
your parrot," she said derisively.

But the fair-haired twin, though of a yielding disposition, was subject
to stubborn fits. "I won't play, then," she said, sitting down heavily
upon a stone.

Her sister understood the sign, and compromised.

"Well, we'll say 'Eevery ivery,' an' see who's to be her," she
suggested.

"All right." The answer was delivered in a weary tone and