"Let us jump over and dance among Miss Thusa's thread. It will be better
than all the rest."

"No, no," cried several, drawing back, "it would be wrong. And I'm
afraid of her. I wouldn't make her mad for all the world."

"I'll leave the gate open, and she'll think the calves have broken in,"
cried Mittie, emboldened by the absence of her father, and feeling
safety in numbers. "Cowards," repeated she, seeing they still drew back.
"Cowards!--just like Helen. I despise to see any one afraid of any
thing. I hate old Madam Thusa, and every thing that belongs to her."

Vaulting over the fence, for there would have been no amusement in going
through the gate, Mittie led the way to the forbidden ground, and it was
not long before her companions, yielding to the influence of her bold,
adventurous spirit, followed. Disdaining to cross the rustic bridge that
spanned the brook, they took off their shoes and waded over its pebbly
bed. They knew Miss Thusa's room was on the opposite side of the house,
and while running round it, they had heard the hum of her busy wheel, so
they did not fear her watching eye.

"Now," said Mittie, catching one of the skeins with her nimble feet, and
tossing it in the air; "who will play cat's cradle with me?"

The idea of playing cat's cradle with the toes, for they had not resumed
their shoes and stockings, was so original and laughable, it was
received with acclamation, and wild with excitement they rushed in the
midst of Miss Thusa's treasures--and such a twist and snarl as they made
was never seen before. They tied more Gordian knots than a hundred
Alexanders could sever, made more tangles than Princess Graciosa in the
fairy tale could untie.

"What shall we do with it now?" they cried, when the novelty of the
occupation wore off, and conscience began to give them a few remorseful
twinges.

"Roll it up in a ball and throw it in the brook," said Mittie, "she'll
think some of her witches have carried it off. I'll pay her for it," she
added, with a scornful laugh, "if she finds us out and makes a fuss. It
can't be worth more than a dollar--and I would give twice as much as
that any time to spite the old thing."

So they wound up the dirty, tangled, ruined thread into a great ball,
and plunged it into the stream that had so often laved the whitening
filaments. Had Miss Thusa seen it sinking into the blue, sunny water,
she would have felt as the mariner does when the corpse of a loved
compan