lecting husbands to names."

So Lionel Hezekiah came into Judith's home and Salome's heart. The
latter was permitted to love him all she pleased, but Judith overlooked
his training with a critical eye. Possibly it was just as well, for
Salome might otherwise have ruined him with indulgence. Salome, who
always adopted Judith's opinions, no matter how ill they fitted her,
deferred to the former's decrees meekly, and suffered far more than
Lionel Hezekiah when he was punished.

She sat on the stairs until she fell asleep herself, her head pillowed
on her arm. Judith found her there when she came in, severe and
triumphant, from her bout with the henhouse door. Her face softened into
marvelous tenderness as she looked at Salome.

"She's nothing but a child herself in spite of her age," she thought
pityingly. "A child that's had her whole life thwarted and spoiled
through no fault of her own. And yet folks say there is a God who is
kind and good! If there is a God, he is a cruel, jealous tyrant, and I
hate Him!"

Judith's eyes were bitter and vindictive. She thought she had many
grievances against the great Power that rules the universe, but the most
intense was Salome's helplessness--Salome, who fifteen years before
had been the brightest, happiest of maidens, light of heart and foot,
bubbling over with harmless, sparkling mirth and life. If Salome could
only walk like other women, Judith told herself that she would not hate
the great tyrannical Power.

Lionel Hezekiah was subdued and angelic for four days after that affair
of the henhouse door. Then he broke out in a new place. One afternoon he
came in sobbing, with his golden curls full of burrs. Judith was not in,
but Salome dropped her crochet-work and gazed at him in dismay.

"Oh, Lionel Hezekiah, what have you gone and done now?"

"I--I just stuck the burrs in 'cause I was playing I was a heathen
chief," sobbed Lionel Hezekiah. "It was great fun while it lasted; but,
when I tried to take them out, it hurt awful."

Neither Salome nor Lionel Hezekiah ever forgot the harrowing hour that
followed. With the aid of comb and scissors, Salome eventually got the
burrs out of Lionel Hezekiah's crop of curls. It would be impossible to
decide which of them suffered more in the process. Salome cried as hard
as Lionel Hezekiah did, and every snip of the scissors or tug at the
silken floss cut into her heart. She was almost exhausted when the
performance was over; but she to