ood name."

"What is it?" he asked.

"'A good name--a good name--'" she repeated, with her eyes on the floor
of the veranda, "and then something about riches, great riches, but I do
forget so. Shall I run and ask her, papa?"

"No, I learned it when I was a boy: 'A good name is rather to be chosen
than great riches.' Is that it?"

"Yes, that's it: 'A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches.'
I shan't forget next time; I'll think about your name, Jerome, papa; that
is a good name, but I don't see how it is better than _great_ riches, do
you?"

The handkerchief was nervously at his lips again, and the child waited
for him to speak.

"Jerrie, I have no money to leave you, it will all be gone by the time
you and Nurse are safe at Aunt Prue's. Everything you have will come from
her; you must always thank her very much for doing so much for you, and
thank Uncle John and be very obedient to him."

"Will he make me do what I don't want to?" she asked, her lips pouting
and her eyes moistening.

"Not unless it is best, and now you must promise me never to disobey him
or Aunt Prue. Promise, Jerrie."

But Jerrie did not like to promise. She moved her feet uneasily, she
scratched on the arm of his chair with a pin that she had picked up on
the floor of the veranda; she would not lift her eyes nor speak. She did
not love to be obedient; she loved to be queen in her own little realm of
Self.

"Papa is dying--he will soon go away, and his little daughter will not
promise the last thing he asks of her?"

Instantly, in a flood of penitent tears, her arms were flung about his
neck and she was promising over and over, "I will, I will," and sobbing
on his shoulder.

He suffered the embrace for a few moments and then pushed her gently
aside.

"Papa is tired now, dear. I want to teach you a Bible verse, that you
must never, never forget: 'The way of the transgressor is hard.' Say it
after me."

The child brushed her tears away and stood upright.

"The way of the transgressor is hard," she repeated in a sobbing voice.

"Repeat it three times."

She repeated it three times slowly.

"Tell Uncle John and Aunt Prue that that was the last thing I taught you,
will you?"

"Yes, papa," catching her breath with a little sob.

"And now run away and come back in a hour and I will read the letters to
you. Ask Nurse to tell you when it is an hour."

The child skipped away, and before many minutes he heard her laughing