O, madam! come quick! My sister is worse. She has
steamed Zed, and she was trying him with a fork; but I locked him into
the closet. Do come and take care of her. She is putting lobelia down
the cow's throat."

Fel and I screamed, and Tempy Ann had to come in and soothe us. Fel
wasn't willing her father and mother should go; but I said, "Don't you
be afraid; aunt Persis won't boil 'em; they're too big to get into the
kettle."

Tempy Ann laughed in her shaky way--which always made me provoked.

"Tempy Ann," cried I, jumping over the foot-board, "I guess _you_
wouldn't laugh if _you_ should be doubled up, and put over the stove!
You needn't think Fel and I are babies, and don' know what you said
about her boiling her mother up the chimney, with a jug on her nose;
but we do know, and it's so, and sober true, for we've seen the
kettle."

But it wasn't of the least use to reason with Tempy Ann when she had
one of those shaky spells. So silly as she was at such times, I almost
wished she could be boiled half a minute, to see if it wouldn't sober
her down.

It seems aunt Persis had really become very crazy indeed; and that
dear, sweet, patient, good Martha had been trying to keep it a secret;
but it couldn't be done any longer. She acted so badly that Martha
couldn't manage her. When Squire Allen went into the house, she was
stirring "Number Six" into some corn-meal for the hens, and was very
angry with him because he made her leave off and go to bed.

Father and mother had to take care of her till uncle John came; but
she was as sick as she was crazy, and did not live till October.

I remember looking at her beautiful, white face, the first I ever saw
in death, and thinking,--

"How glad auntie is to be so still."

No one told me she was tired, but somehow I knew it, for she was
always flying about in such a hurry, and I was sure it must rest her
very much to go to sleep. I received then a pleasant, peaceful
impression of death, which I never forgot.

Miss Rubie staid at Squire Allen's for some time, and taught Fel. Now
she is a person whom you all know very well; but I shall not tell who
she is till by and by.

CHAPTER VII.

THE LITTLE LIE-GIRL.

And now I will skip along to the next summer, and come to the dreadful
lie I told about the hatchet. You remember it, Horace and Prudy, how I
saw your uncle Ned's hatchet on the meat block, and heedlessly took it
up to break open some clams, and then was s