"Aunt Pat was moulding bread in the great wooden bowl, and I was moving the dasher up and down very slowly, and watching her all the while. I wanted to learn how to make bread, and I asked a great many questions; but, after all, the thought most in my mind, and which I said nothing about, after a fashion which children often have, was this very story about Jesus feeding the five thousand people with five loaves of bread. Only the day before, which had been Sunday, aunt Pat had read this whole story to Jerry and me, and talked it over. She was an excellent hand to tell Bible stories, she made them seem so real. She explained the size of the loaves, and all about it. When I saw the great big ones she was moulding, I thought they would have fed a great many more than the little lad's; and from that I went on, thinking out the story, and the way those people followed Jesus the next day, and asked for the bread which would keep them from getting hungry again, without understanding at all what they were asking for. Aunt Pat said they prayed just as plenty of people did nowadays; asked great big things without thinking of them, or wanting them very much. Just then Jerry came in, blowing his fingers, and pretending to be very cold; it _was_ a rather sharp spring morning, and he had been out at the woodpile. He said he wasn't so cold, though, as he was hungry. Aunt Pat laughed, and said she wondered if there was ever a boy made wasn't hungry all the time; then she looked at the clock, and found it was about the time when she always gave Jerry a lunch; for he had been up and at work since five in the morning. Oh! he had his breakfast, of course, a little after five, but aunt Pat always gave him a piece in the middle of the forenoon. By this time she had her loaves all nicely moulded, and she went to the closet and cut him a thick slice of the most excellent bread, and spread it with butter that smelled like June roses. Jerry took great bites of it with a satisfied air, smacking his lips to show how good it was; it must have brought some thought of the very story I was thinking about, for suddenly he spoke out: 'Evermore give us this bread! I say so too!' Then aunt Pat's eyes flashed. 'Jeremiah,' she said, and her voice was very stern, 'you are named after too good a man to be guilty of making fun of Scripture in any such way. Repeating a prayer, too, and not meaning it any more than the heathen do, when they mumble words to their little stone gods. I'm ashamed of you!' "Jerry looked a little abashed, and muttered that he didn't mean any harm; but I remember to this day, just how wrought up aunt Patriot was about it; she told Jerry that boys who commenced by turning sacred words to fit their own notions, often ended by being profane, wicked men. And that's just the way Jeremiah Carter ended. I haven't thought of him for many a day. But he grew up to be a bad man."