up with their ideas
of God and Heaven. Thus there was in Bryngelly a little girl of ten, a
very clever and highly excitable child, Jane Llewellyn by name, born of
parents of strict Calvinistic views. As it chanced, some months
before the opening of this story, a tub thumper, of high renown and
considerable rude oratorical force, visited the place, and treated his
hearers to a lively discourse on the horrors of Hell.

In the very front row, her eyes wide with fear, sat this poor little
child between her parents, who listened to the Minister with much
satisfaction, and a little way back sat Beatrice, who had come out of
curiosity.

Presently the preacher, having dealt sufficiently in terrifying
generalities, went on to practical illustrations, for, after the manner
of his class, he was delivering an extemporary oration. "Look at that
child," he said, pointing to the little girl; "she looks innocent, does
she not? but if she does not find salvation, my brethren, I tell you
that she is damned. If she dies to-night, not having found salvation,
she will go to _Hell_. Her delicate little body will be tormented for
ever and ever----"

Here the unfortunate child fell forward with a shriek.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir," said Beatrice aloud.

She had been listening to all this ill-judged rant with growing
indignation, and now, in her excitement, entirely forgot that she was in
a place of worship. Then she ran forward to the child, who had swooned.
Poor little unfortunate, she never recovered the shock. When she came to
herself, it was found that her finely strung mind had given way, and she
lapsed into a condition of imbecility. But her imbecility was not always
passive. Occasionally fits of passionate terror would seize upon her.
She would cry out that the fiends were coming to drag her down to
torment, and dash herself against the wall, in fear hideous to behold.
Then it was found that there was but one way to calm her: it was to send
for Beatrice. Beatrice would come and take the poor thin hands in hers
and gaze with her calm deep eyes upon the wasted horror-stricken face
till the child grew quiet again and, shivering, sobbed herself to sleep
upon her breast.

And so it was with all the children; her power over them was almost
absolute. They loved her, and she loved them all.

And now the schooling was almost done for the day. It was Beatrice's
custom to make the children sing some simple song before they