At her feet, cross-legged, sat Cecile Butler, velvet eyes intent on a silken petticoat which she was embroidering with pale sprays of flowers.

Ruyven and Harry, near by, dipped their brushes into pans of brilliant French colors, the one to paint marvellous birds on a silken fan, the other to decorate a pair of white satin shoes with little pink blossoms nodding on a vine.

Loath to disturb them, I stood smiling, silent; and presently Dorothy, without raising her eyes, called on Samuel to read his morning lesson, and he began, breathing heavily: 

     “I know that God is wroth at me
       For I was born in sin;
     My heart is so exceeding vile
       Damnation dwells therein;
     Awake I sin, asleep I sin,
       I sin with every breath,
     When Adam fell he went to hell
       And damned us all to death!”

He stopped short, scowling, partly from fright, I think.

“That teaches us to obey God,” said Ruyven, severely, dipping his brush into the pink paint-cake.

“What’s the good of obeying God if we’re all to go to hell?” asked Cecile.

“We’re not all going to hell,” said Dorothy, calmly.  “God saves His elect.”

“Who are the elect?” demanded Samuel, faintly hopeful.

“Nobody knows,” replied Cecile, grimly; “but I guess—­”

“Benny,” broke in Dorothy, “read your lesson!  Cecile, stop your chatter!” And Benny, cheerful and sceptical, read his lines: 

     “When by thpectators I behold
       What beauty doth adorn me,
     Or in a glath when I behold
       How thweetly God did form me. 
     Hath God thuch comeliness bethowed
       And on me made to dwell?—­
     What pity thuch a pretty maid
       Ath I thoud go to hell!”

And Benny giggled.

“Benjamin,” said Cecile, in an awful voice, “are you not terrified at what you read?”

“Huh!” said Benny, “I’m not a ‘pretty maid’; I’m a boy.”

“It’s all the same, little dunce!” insisted Cecile.

“Doeth God thay little boyth are born to be damned?” he asked, uneasily.

“No, no,” interrupted Dorothy; “God saves His elect, I tell you.  Don’t you remember what He says?

     “’You sinners are, and such a share
       As sinners may expect;
     Such you shall have; for I do save
       None but my own elect.’

“And you see,” she added, confidently, “I think we all are elect, and there’s nothing to be afraid of.  Benny, stop sniffing!”

“Are you sure?” asked Cecile, gloomily.

Dorothy, stitching serenely, answered:  “I am sure God is fair.”

“Oh, everybody knows that,” observed Cecile.  “What we want to know is, what does He mean to do with us.”

“If we’re good,” added Samuel, fervently.

“He will damn us, perhaps,” said Ruyven, sucking his paint-brush and looking critically at his work.