not go alone, all the poor, unconscious boats in tow, would have to follow. Do you see, my dear, busy little steam-tug? What kind of a governor sat at that very small helm, and where did you steer with all that precious freight? I hope there will never be a wreck for which Christie is to blame."

"There, mother, when you talk like that, you make me perfectly miserable. It certainly does take all the pleasure out of being 'superior' for a while. One would almost rather be John-Jack, an 'innocent,' as Bridget calls him. It sounded so grand to hear Mr. Carter talk about the leading minds of the age, but just in this light, it is frightful. What do you think I'd better do. I suppose you would like to have me join that society where they take the vow of perpetual silence."

"And be turned out the first half hour?" smiled her mother. "Besides, I don't see how that would mend matters much. The tongue is just as powerful for good as evil, and putting aside a valuable gift, without trying to use it, is rather an insult to the Giver, isn't it?"

Christie didn't answer, she was thinking, again. Tom seemed to know how to manage his tongue. He wasn't a bit stupid; he said a great many capital things, and yet he never got into half the trouble she did. What was the secret? He had a better start in life, for one thing; he was born affectionate, and patient, and cheerful, while she came into the world selfish, quick-tempered, and restless, with spirits, like the tides, at perpetual ebb and flow. But she wouldn't suggest this to her mother for the world; she would be sure to agree with her.

"Then you don't think I ought to give up talking?" she said, at last.

"Of course not; only have the right governor at the helm."

“What governor ?”

"Love."

"There it is again," said Christie.

CHAPTER V.

THE INVENTOR'S PLAN.

HRISTIE began the day wrong. It was Sunday, and she was up too late for breakfast. It seemed hard that her

mother should look so displeased when she had been having such a beautiful dream. To be sure she hadn't been as courageous as John-Jack, whom she had heard almost two hours ago, having one of those queer little conflicts with himself, in his room next to hers. "Get up Jack," he had said.

"It's so cold, John. Just a minute longer."

"Get up this instant. Not another word!"

Very sternly the inexorable John had spoken, and she had heard poor Jack tumble out, with a heavy sigh, not daring to disobey. But just then she had slipped away in such a

delicious dreamy haze. She had lately been reading a life of Mahomet, and now she imagined herself one of the seventy thousand spirits that lie all mixed together in the great tank of light, and are born into separate angels, whenever the angel Gabriel passes by. It was so delightful to be beautiful and good, without any bother about it; and it wasn't at all pleasant to come to consciousness, and find herself only selfish, common-place Christie, with breakfast quite cold, and the first bells ringing for church. She had to do everything in such a hurry. She grew very nervous over her hair, and, not finding the ear-rings to wear with her corn-colored bow, she accused Dump of taking them, and scolded her till she cried. Then, to cap the climax, there wasn't a pin to be found upon her cushion, though that was nothing very new. John-Jack, overwhelmed with her despair, came running with some from her mother's room, which he laid softly before her.

"Cousin," said he, lingering, while she seized them without a word. "Are they any

better? Could you shake 'em now?"

Christie turned impatiently. Jack, smiling complacently, was holding out his hands.

66

'O, how dreadful!" cried Christie, covering her eyes, with a gesture of utter disgust.

The great hands were the color of raw beef, the skin was off of almost every knuckle; they were bleeding a little.

“It makes me faint. Do go away, you horrid, horrid creature!"

Jack was gone before she had finished. She heard him in the hall, on his way to his

room.

"I told you so, Jack, you're horrid!"

"But I tried, John," he returned, tremulously, "I tried; and you said-," the rest was lost.

"He's been washing his hands with Tom's sand-soap, ever since breakfast," announced Dump, simply," said he didn't care how much it hurt, he meant to get 'em clean."

Altogether Christie was not at all in an enviable state of mind, when she at last found herself in the seat at church, warm and embarrassed with arriving too late. Mr. Anthon was quite in the middle of his sermon before