The good woman was praying for a brace of reprobates,--two beings ordained to everlasting and eternal punishment unless they indulged in a speedy and effectual repentance. Derrice, in mild wonder, followed her, until the startling discovery dawned upon her that she herself was one of the subjects of the petition. She was the stiff-necked sinner, the scorner of grace, the vessel doomed to everlasting wrath. And was it Captain White who was to go down to destruction with her? She cast a glance toward him, and was answered by a reassuring nod. "She don't often get the chance to hold forth," he whispered, behind his uplifted hand. "Justin usually takes charge." Derrice felt herself growing angry. How different was the mother from the son! She indignantly got off her knees and sat in her chair, and when the others rose she confronted Mrs. Prymmer with a stormy brow. Only waiting until Mary left the room she exclaimed, "You were talking about me just now--" "About your immortal soul," said Mrs. Prymmer, pursing up her lips. "Don't you do it again," said Derrice, wrathfully. "I will not be called by those names. You ought to be ashamed of yourself," and she swept out of the room. "Serves you right, Hippolyta," remarked Captain White. "You brought it on yourself." Mrs. Prymmer's countenance expressed unmitigated indignation. "Hadn't you better give up that style of praying?" he inquired. "It's a trifle old-fashioned. They don't herd sinners into the kingdom that way now, and besides, see what poor success you've had with me. Twenty years you've been praying at me, and I drink, and dance, and fight just the same as ever. 'Pon my word, it makes me want to act worse to listen to you." Mrs. Prymmer was not convinced. She began putting out the lights for the night, thinking thereby to force her cousin to beat a retreat into the hall. "Quit that," he ejaculated. "Am I a twenty-dollar-a-week boarder to have the gas turned off in my face?" "I didn't mean to rile you, Micah," she said, immediately lighting up again. "All right, Hippolyta,--I'll not be long. I just want to discuss this reprobate business. You've got to stop calling me names. If you can't pray like a lady you can hold your tongue." "Micah," she stammered, "it is for your soul's good." "Soul be fiddlesticked! Can you doctor a sick soul when you send a body's temper flying all over the place?" "I--I don't know." "Well, you find out. Sister Negus doesn't pray that way, nor Sister Jones, nor Sister James, nor any other sisters that I can hear of. It's just your darned old-timed way of holding sinners over the pit to see 'em squirm. Now, will you let up on it?" "Micah, it is hard to teach an old dog new tricks." "Then the old dog can go lie down in a corner and hold his tongue. Will he now, or shall I go down to the hotel where the waiters won't be running at me with hymn-books and Bibles?" "Micah, when Justin's away I'll just read the Scriptures and not pray."