the presence of any French attendant upon the child would be
undesirable.

"I hope that God may have mercy upon the French people,--and that those
who dwell temporarily among them may be watched over and be graciously
snatched from the great destruction that awaits the ungodly."

XVII.

Meantime Reuben grew into a knowledge of all the town mischief, and into
the practice of such as came within the scope of his years. The proposed
introduction of the young stranger from abroad to the advantages of the
parsonage home did not weigh upon his thought greatly. The prospect of
such a change did not soften him, whatever might come of the event. In
his private talk with Esther, he had said, "I hope that French girl'll
be a _clever_ un; if she a'n't, I'll"----and he doubled up a little
fist, and shook it, so that Esther laughed outright.

Not that the boy had any cruelty in him, but he was just now learning
from his older companions of the village, who were more steeped in
iniquity, that defiant manner by which the Devil in all of us makes his
first pose preparatory to the onslaught that is to come.

"Nay, Ruby, boy," said Esther, when she had recovered from her laughter,
"you wouldn't hurt the little un, would ye? Don't ye want a little
playfellow, Ruby?"

"I don't play with girls, I don't," said Reuben. "But, I say, Esther,
what'll papa do, if she dances?"

"What makes the boy think she'll dance?" said Esther.

"Because the Geography says the French people dance; and Phil Elderkin
showed me a picture with girls dancing under a tree, and, says he, 'That
's the sort that's comin' to y'r house.'"

"Well, I don't know," said Esther, "but I guess your Aunt Eliza 'd cure
the dancin'."

"She wouldn't cure me, if I wanted to," said Reuben, who thought it
needful to speak in terms of bravado about the spinster, with whom he
kept up a series of skirmishing fights from week to week. The truth is,
the keen eye of the good lady ferreted out a great many of his pet plans
of mischief, and nipped them before they had time to ripen. Over and
over, too, she warned him against the evil associates whom he would find
about the village tavern, where he strayed from time to time to be
witness to some dog-fight, or to receive a commendatory glance of
recognition from one Nat Boody, the tavern-keeper's son, who had run
away two years before and made a voyage down the river in a sloop laden
with apples and onions to "York." He was a head t