"So spake our general mother, and, with eyes Of conjugal attraction unreproved, And meek surrender, half-embracing leaned On our first father; half her swelling breast Naked met his, under the flowing gold Of her loose tresses hid; he, in delight Both of her beauty and submissive charms, Smiled with superior love (as Jupiter On Juno smiles, when he impregns the clouds That shed May flowers), and pressed her matron lip With kisses pure. Aside the Devil turned For envy, yet with jealous leer malign Eyed them askance; and to himself thus plained:-- 'Sight hateful, sight tormenting!' . . ." Molly interrupted with a cry; so fiercely Hetty had gripped her wrist of a sudden. Emily broke off: "What on earth's the matter, child?" "Is it an adder?" asked Patty, whose mind was ever practical. "Johnny Whitelamb warned us--" "An adder?" Hetty answered her, cool in a moment and deliberate. "Nothing like it, my dear; 'tis the old genuine Serpent." "What do you mean, Hetty? Where is it?" "Sit down, child, and don't distress yourself. Having rendered everybody profoundly uncomfortable within a circuit of two miles and almost worried itself to a sun-stroke, it has now gone into the house to write at a commentary on the Book of Job, to be illustrated with cuts, for one of which--to wit, the War-horse which saith, 'Ha, ha,' among the trumpets--you observe Johnny Whitelamb making a study at this moment." "I think you must mean papa," said Patty; "and I call it very disrespectful to compare him with Satan; for 'twas Satan sister Emmy was reading about." "So she was: but if you had read Plutarch every morning with papa, as I have, you would know that the best authors (whom I imitate) sometimes use comparisons for the sake of contrast. Satan, you heard, eyed our first parents askance: papa would have stepped in earlier and forbidden Adam the house. Proceed, Emilia! How goes Milton on?-- "Adam and Eve and Pinch-me Went to the river to bathe: Adam and Eve were drown'd, And who do you think was saved? . . ." Molly drew her wrist away hurriedly. "Hetty!" she cried, as Emilia withdrew into her book in dudgeon. "Hetty, dear! I cannot bear you to be flippant. It hurts me, it is so unworthy of you." "Hurts you, my mouse?"--this was one of Hetty's tender, fantastic names for her. "Why then, I ask your pardon and must try to amend. You are right. I _was_ flippant; you might even have said vulgar. Proceed, Emilia,--do you hear? I beg your pardon. Tell us more of the Arch-Rebel-- "And courage never to submit or yield And what is else not to be overcome . . ." Say it over in your great voice, Emmy, and purge us poor rebels of vulgarity." "Pardon me," Emilia answered icily, "I am not conscious of being a rebel--nor of any temptation to be vulgar." Molly shot an imploring glance at Hetty: but it was too late, and she knew it.