“No, you haven’t your wish,” said Lottie’s disappointed voice; “it reads: ‘And a cubit on one side, and a cubit on the other side’—that’s dreadful and horrid; I’m so sorry, Ju.” So was Judith; sorry and frightened. “Now, I’ll try. I wish for a gold chain like Grace Marvin’s,” she said, bravely. Judith looked frightened; but what was there to be afraid of? It was not like fortune-telling; it was the _Bible_. Judith watched her nervously; she was disappointed if it said in the Bible that she could never go to boarding-school; but, oh, how glad she was that she had not asked the Bible if her mother would ever be strong enough to go to Bensalem. She could not have borne nothing but a cubit about that. She would hate a “cubit” after this. “There!” cried Lottie jubilantly, “I have it. See.” Over the fine print near Lottie’s finger, Judith bent and read: “_And it came to pass_.” “Isn’t that splendid?” said Lottie, “but I wish you had got it. Do you want to try again?” “No,” hesitated Judith, “it frightens me, and I’m afraid it’s wicked.” “Wicked,” laughed Lottie, “how can it be wicked?” “I cannot explain how—but I’m sure mother would not like it.” “But your mother is so particular,” explained Lottie, “everybody isn’t. She thinks there’s a right and wrong to everything.” “But _isn’t_ there?” persisted Judith. “No,” contended Lottie boldly, but with a fear at her heart; “there isn’t about this. This is right.” “I hope it is,” said Judith, brightening. “We tried it at noon recess one day, and John Kenney came and looked on. He didn’t say what he thought.” “Who is John Kenney?” “The brightest and handsomest boy in the High School. He’s up head in Latin and everything. He was at my New Year’s Eve party. Don’t you remember? He sang college songs.” “He’s the big boy that found a chair for me, and gave me ice cream the second time. I shall always remember _him_,” said Judith, fervently. “I did not know his name; when I think about him, I call him John. John is my favorite name for a man; it has a strong sound, a generous sound, and I like the color of it.” “The _color_,” repeated Lottie, amazed. “Don’t names have color and sound to you?” asked Judith, surprised. “John is the deepest crimson to me, a glowing crimson. John belongs to self-sacrifice and generous deeds. John is a hero and a saint.” Lottie laughed noisily. Judith was the queerest girl. Her _things_ were always getting mixed up with _thoughts_. Lottie did not care for thoughts. School, dress, parties, Sunday-school, summer vacations, John Kenney, dusting and making cake, jolly times with her father, and home times and making calls with her mother, were only “things” to this girl of fifteen; if there were “thoughts” in them, she missed the thoughts. She was daring and handsome; Judith admired her because she was so different from herself. “I don’t believe my mother would care,” said Lottie, honestly, as she laid her Bible in its place upon her book-shelf.