[Sidenote: HOW COULD I BE SO NAUGHTY?] "What did you say?" "Mama, I called out 'damn' three times." "My dear, what a dreadful word! How did you know it?" "Oh, once I heard Uncle Paul say it when he ran a nail in his boot; and once I remembered that Crawley said it when he got his foot caught in a gate-post out riding, and I have never forgotten it. And worse," continued Bess, "I called out, 'hell! hell! hell!' and then I was frightened; but I didn't let Hals see it, or he would have said girls were only funks after all." "Well, little girl, you have done wrong, and you know it; for it is always wicked to curse anybody, and mean to pray that some evil may befall them. But," I added, as I saw Bess's tear-stained little face, "I am sure you're sorry; for think what a terrible thing it would be if anything dreadful happened to Fräulein, and if you thought your wicked words had brought it about." Bess's composure by this time had quite broken down, she broke out into a passionate fit of tears. "Why don't you beat me, why don't you shake me, or do something?" she cried. "My poor little girl," I answered, and I took her in my arms and prayed God that He would purify my little girl's heart, and give her a pure white soul. At last Bess's sobs grew less violent, and she lay quiet. "Do you feel better now?" I asked. "Yes," came back from Bess; "for the curses, Mum Mum, seem to have gone out of the room and to be dying away. Before you came, the whole place seemed full of them, and eyes, great horrid eyes, seemed to be looking at me everywhere, and I couldn't rest, do what I would." "Now you can sleep," I said with a smile, "and I will sit by you till all the evil spirits are gone, and guard you." So I sat on without speaking, and held Bess's hands till the dustman of children's fancy came with his sandbags and threw the sand of kindly oblivion into my little maiden's eyes, and she fell asleep. Then softly and as delicately as I could, I untwined the little network of fingers that had twined themselves so cunningly around mine, and gave little Bess a parting kiss as I glided out of the room. When I returned to the chapel hall I found a letter from Constance. In a postscript she told me that the idea of the quilt was taking form. "From 'Gerard's Herbal' I have chosen," she wrote, "the King's Chalice, or Serins' Cade; the Dalmatian Cap; the Guinny Hen; the Broad-leaved Saffron; Goat's Rue, or the Herb of Grace; Ladies' Smock; Golden Mouse-ear; Solomon's Seal; Star of Bethlehem; Sops in Wine; Ales-hoof; Wolf's Bane and Golden Rod. I give you all the old names. On a scroll I propose round the quilt or 'bed hoddin,' as Shropshire folks would call it, to work wise and beautiful words about sleep;" and her letter ended with an appeal to me, to help her, by finding some apt saws and quotations for this purpose. Of course I will; what a delightful excuse for looking through the poets, I said to myself.