"It air true," protested the little Biblical student. "I hearn the rider read it myself." "Them childern war obleeged ter be sorter sizable ter hev quit bein' bald-headed tharse'fs, ef they war able ter run an' p'int thar fingers. An' shucks! I hev been sassier 'n that a many a time, an' no bar hev eat me yit," said Joe hardily. "Ye air savin' up fur Satan, I reckon," retorted Miss Taft, with acerbity. "I hev a heap o' trouble with this boy," she added, turning a dreary, disgusted little face toward Larrabee. Their unity of literary interest had fostered a degree of sympathy for her. "Ye oughter go down sometimes an' set at Tems's," he suggested. "He hev got a darter an' a niece, though they air older 'n ye be." "I don't mind old folks," said Cornelia, evidently with no idea of the gradations of age. "I be used ter granny. I wisht dad would marry one of 'em at Tems's," she added. Larrabee glanced keenly at her. "What ails ye, ter say that?" he asked jealously. "I'd like ter see a tuck took in Joe," said Sis bitterly. She obviously spoke without further information or meaning. Larrabee rose restlessly, the interest of the literary symposium at an end. "I wisht ye could let me out'n hyar somehows," he said, glancing uneasily about. Then, with a sudden recollection, "Ain't you-uns got a key ez would open the sto' door, what ye brung from yer granny's house? Mebbe 'twould open t'other." "Dad took it; he didn't want the sto' do' opened whenst he hed locked it." "Hain't you-uns got no mo' keys, no kind o' keys?" She hesitated, but he had won upon her somewhat obdurate predilections; his acquaintance with the heroes of the tales that she had learned at her grandmother's home was a pleasing and fresh bond of interest. She divined his sympathy, and had seen his approval of the works she had wrought in the service of order and cleanliness; he saw in her little prim face that she had keys at hand, and presently she nodded brightly. "Let's try 'em," he urged, as if the experiment had a mutual interest. It was a bunch of two or three rusty old keys which she produced, held together with a rough leather string, but they meant liberty and life to Larrabee. He could hardly be still long enough to clean and oil them before the attempt which should be decisive. The little girl rubbed one with a will, while he busied himself with the other. She held the candle as he knelt tremulously on the floor and applied them successively to the lock. One slipped in and turned futilely all round,--too small. The other would not even enter the keyhole.