e is Marjorie," she replied.

"Yes, but what's your other name?"

"Marjorie Carmichael."

"Is that your father's name?"

"No, my papa's name is Captain Thomas."

"And has he got a ship on Lake Simcoe?"

"Yes, how did you know? He's got a ship, and a lumber yard, and a saw
mill, and a farm, and a lot of things. Saul is on the farm, and Mr.
Pratt works the mill, and Gudgeon looks after the yard, and Sylvanus is
on the boat."

"Who is Saul?"

"He's the father of Sylvanus and Timotheus. Only Timotheus doesn't work
for us. He wouldn't say his catechism on Sundays, so Saul said he had to
go. I don't wonder he wouldn't say his catechism, do you? It speaks
about God's getting awful angry and cursing. God doesn't get angry with
little boys and girls and curse them, does he, Mr. What's your name?"

"My name is Coristine, but the name my little sister would have called
me, if I had had a little sister like you, would be Eugene. No, I never
read that God cursed any little girls and boys, nor anybody, not even
the devil."

"And he's very very bad, isn't he? My cousin Marjorie Carruthers, that
I'm called after, says Timotheus should have learned his catechism; but
she doesn't think God curses children. Then I said he oughtn't to learn
what isn't true."

"O my darlint, but it's right you are. I wish I had you up on the dais
at the Synod, to teach the bishops and all the clergy. Is she a nice
little girl, your cousin Marjorie?"

"She's nice, but she isn't little, not a single bit. She lives away away
in Toronto, and teaches school. Now, put your head down and I'll whisper
something in your ear."

Coristine put his head down beside the long, fair curls, and Marjorie
whispered, pointing a finger at the same time towards the widow: "That's
my Aunt Marjorie, and she's Marjorie's mother."

"Where is cousin Marjorie now!"

"She's up at Uncle Carruthers', along with Miss Du Plessis. Do you know
Miss Du Plessis? Oh, she's lovely, and, do you know?--put down your head
again--that ugly little man sitting by Auntie says he's going to marry
her. Isn't it too bad?"

"Infernal little beast! O, my dear Marjorie, I beg your pardon. I was
thinking of that rascal of a mosquito on your hand--there, he's dead!
Yes, it would be too bad, but she'll never marry such a man as that."

"Perhaps she'll have to, because she's very poor, and he says he's going
to make heaps and heaps of money. People shouldn't marry for money,
should they?"