mmediately as she was bid, not daring to speak when she
heard her father's gruff tone.

The farm of the "Prenoms" was only half a mile distant from "Les
Marches," and Adele did the distance in ten minutes.

She gave the letter to her uncle. "You will have to wait for a
reply," he said.

Her uncle was a man who never said more than was absolutely
necessary.

"Seat yourself; here is a chair for you," said her aunt.

Adele took the preferred chair, and her aunt began to question her.

"So you are going to a boarding school," she said; and Adele felt
that there was something sarcastic in her tone.

"Papa wants me to," she mumbled timidly.

"Oh, it is not so much Alfred's wish," significantly said Mrs. Soher
(Adele's aunt), as she turned towards her step-mother who was seated
on a "_jonquiere_," engaged in mending a pair of stockings.

Near her sat a young boy who looked a little older than Adele. He
was mischievously occupied in knotting the skein of thread which his
grandmother was using.

Adele resented what she knew to be a slight cast upon her dead
mother's memory, but she did not speak. Her aunt had always been
hostile to her, she knew not why.

Old Mrs. Soher raised her hoary head and remarked: "In my time,
young girls like Adele used to learn to read and write,--and work."

Adele felt very uncomfortable. She wished her uncle would make haste
and write his reply; but he sat at his desk, passing his fingers
through his hair; a method with which he was familiar when puzzled.
Then he rose and cast a significant glance at his wife who followed
him out of the room.

The old woman espied her prankish grandson. She immediately broke
out into a violent fit of scolding: too animated to be serious. "Ah!
but what next, you wicked little rascal. Knotting my thread; but I'm
sure. I have a mind to slap your face. Just look at what you have
done. Why did you do it?"

Tommy--the little boy--giggled. "I was tired of sitting here doing
nothing," he answered impudently; "why don't you tell me a story."

"Well, now, be a good boy; do you know where the bad boys will go?"

"With the devil."

"Quite right; now, you will be good."

"Tell me a tale; you know, something about the old witches," said
Tommy. "How do they make people ill?" he questioned pulling
impatiently at his grandmother's shawl.

"They give themselves to Satan," answered the grandmother.

"How?"

"They sign their name, writing it backwards with th