“I never have told a downright falsehood,” said Lina. “Mother taught me how wicked it is to tell stories. Did you ever tell a fib to your mother, Frances?” “'Tain't no use to try to 'ceive my mama,” was the reply of the other little girl; “she's got such gimlet eyes and ears she can tell with 'em shut if you're fibbing. I gave up hope long ago, so I just go 'long and tell her the plain gospel truth when she asks me, 'cause I know those gimlet eyes and ears of hers 're going to worm it out o' me somehow.” “Grown folks pin you down so close sometimes,” said Jimmy, “you bound to 'varicate a little; and I always tell God I'm sorry. I tell my mama the truth 'most all time 'cepting when she asks questions 'bout things ain't none of her business a tall, and she all time want to know 'Who done it?' and if I let on it's me, I know she'll wear out all the slippers and hair-brushes they is paddling my canoe, 'sides switches, so I jus' say 'I do' know, 'm'--which all time ain't perzactly the truth. You ever tell Miss Minerva stories, Billy?” “Aunt Cindy always say, 't wa'n't no harm 't all to beat 'bout the bush an' try to th'ow folks offer the track 'long as you can, but if it come to the point where you got to tell a out-an'-out fib, she say for me always to tell the truth, an' I jest nachelly do like she say ever sence I's born,” replied Billy. The children swung awhile in silence. Presently Jimmy broke the quiet by remarking, “Don't you all feel sorry for old Miss Pollie Bumpus? She live all by herself, and she 'bout a million years old, and Doctor Sanford ain't never brung her no chillens 'cause she ain't got 'er no husban' to be their papa, and she got a octopus in her head, and she poor as a post and deaf as job's old turkey-hen.” “Job's old turkey-hen wasn't deaf,” retorted Lina primly; “she was very, very poor and thin.” “She was deaf, too,” insisted Jimmy, “'cause it's in the Bible. I know all 'bout job,” bragged he. “I know all 'bout job, too,” chirped Frances. “Job, nothing!” said Jimmy, with a sneer; “you all time talking 'bout you know all 'bout job; you 'bout the womanishest little girl they is. Now I know job 'cause Miss Cecilia 'splained all 'bout him to me. He's in the Bible and he sold his birthmark for a mess of potatoes and--” “You never can get anything right, Jimmy,” interrupted Lina; “that was Esau and it was not his birthmark, it was his birthstone; and he sold his birthstone for a mess of potash.” “Yas,” agreed Frances; “he saw Esau kissing Kate and Esau had to sell him his birthstone to keep his mouth shut.” “Mother read me all about job,” continued Lina; “he was afflicted with boils and his wife knit him a job's comforter to wrap around him, and he--” “And he sat under a 'tato vine;” put in Frances eagerly, “what God grew to keep the sun off o' his boils and--” “That was Jonah,” said Lina, “and it wasn't a potato vine; it was--” “No, 't wasn't Jonah neither; Jonah is inside of a whale's bel--” “Frances!”