,
he sought to beguile her to this end, beginning diplomatically with
other matters.

"Come, tell me your name, dear."

She allowed her attention to be diverted from her largest doll.

"My name is Prudence--" She hesitated.

"Prudence--what?"

"I--I lost my mind of it." She looked at him hopefully, to be prompted.

"Prudence Rae."

She repeated the name, doubtingly, "Prudence Rae?"

"Yes--remember now--Prudence Rae. You are my little girl--Prudence Rae."

"But you're not my really papa--he's went far off--oh, ten ninety miles
far!"

"No, Prudence--God is your Father in heaven, and I am your father on
earth--"

"But not my _papa_!"

"Listen, Prudence--do you know what you are?"

The puzzled look she had worn fled instantly from her face.

"I'm a generation of vipers."

She made the announcement with a palpable ring of elation in her tones,
looking at him proudly, and as if waiting to hear expressions of
astonishment and delight.

"Child, child, who has told you such things? You are not that!"

She retorted, indignantly now, the lines drawing about her eyes in
signal of near-by tears:

"I _am_ a generation of vipers--the Bishop said I was--he told that
other mamma, and I _am_ it!"

"Well, well, don't cry--all right--you shall be it--but I can tell you
something much nicer." He assumed a knowing air, as one who withheld
knowledge of overwhelming fascinations.

"Tell me--_what_?"

[Illustration: "BUT YOU'RE NOT MY REALLY PAPA!"]

And so, little by little, hardly knowing where to begin, but feeling
that any light whatsoever must profit a soul so benighted, he began to
teach her. When she had been put to bed at early candle-light, he went
to see if she remembered her lesson.

"What is the name of God in pure language?"

And she answered, with zest, "Ahman."

"What is the name of the Son of God?"

"Son Ahman,--the greatest of all the parts of God excepting Ahman."

"What is the name of man?"

"Sons Ahman."

"That is good--my little girl shall be chosen of the Lord."

He waited by her until sleep should come, but her mind had been stirred,
and long after he thought she slept she startled him by asking, in a
voice of entire wakefulness: "If I am a good little girl, and learn all
the _right_ things--_then_ can I be a generation of vipers?" She
lingered with relish on the phrase, giving each syllable with
distinctness and gusto. When he was sure that she slept, he leaned over
very carefull