Ester Ried Yet Speaking | Page 8

the
act performed in Egypt so long ago, carefully avoiding any reference to
time, and mentioning no names, using only modern terms, and an
exceedingly simple conversational form of language. She was, however,
presently interrupted with a question:--
"When did all this happen? And why don't somebody do something like
it nowadays?"
Ignoring the first question, Mrs. Roberts adroitly gave herself to the
second.
"Why don't you find your pleasure in tumbling around on the floor,
playing with a bright-colored marble or two as you did when a child?
The world was in its childhood when God taught the people in this way.
He has given them just as wonderful lessons since, but lessons more

suited to men and women who have learned to think and reason. We
don't like to be always treated as children."
Whether they really dimly understood the meaning or not is possibly
doubtful, yet it appealed to their sense of dignity in so indirect a way,
that they did not themselves realize what inclined them to quiet for a
moment, while she finished her sentence earnestly. In the midst of the
quiet the closing-bell rang, and the seven young scamps seemed at once
to take into their hearts seven other spirits worse than themselves, and
behaved abominably during the closing exercises, and tumbled out of
the door over each other, in the wildest fashion, the moment the signal
was given, halting only to say, in the person of their leader:--
"You be on hand next Sunday; we like your yarns first rate."
Mrs. Roberts, with glowing cheeks, and eyes behind which there were
unshed tears, made her way to the desk where Mr. Durant was standing,
and spoke quickly:
"There is a difference between others who have tried it and myself, Mr.
Durant. The sentence in Mr. Ried's account that gave me courage was,
'Every one has failed, so far; people are unwilling to take the class a
second time.' I have failed, but I want to try again."
CHAPTER III.
"ANYTHING UNCOMMON ABOUT ME?"
Though they rushed out with even more noise than usual, every boy of
them knew that the noise was to cover a certain sense of
shame-facedness, because they had actually been beguiled into
listening quietly for a few minutes to earnest words.
Directly they had reached the privacy of the street they became quieter.
"I say, boys," said Nimble Dick, "is that an awful green one, or a new
kind?"

"New, I should say," replied one of the younger boys; "she ain't like
anything that's been in that room since we got acquainted with it. I
don't know her style, myself."
"What do you take it she meant by that stuff about being friends, and
telling us where she lived, and all that?"
"Dunno what she meant; but she ain't green, you may bet your head on
that. I'll tell you what I think, boys: I b'lieve she knows what she is
about, every time."
What this sage conclusion amounted to, one not acquainted with the
dialect of the street might have been at a loss to understand, but the rest
of the party received it in grave silence and nods of the head, as though
it were a thought that needed careful investigation. In common parlance,
Jerry Tompkins had expressed the opinion that Mrs. Roberts had some
point to gain in being so uncommonly polite and attentive to them, and
they were curious to know what the motive could possibly be.
They considered the important question in silence until they reached
the next corner; then Nimble Dick, tossing back his head as one who
had thrown off an abstruse problem, and would have none of it, said:--
"Well, what next? We've got through with that fun for to-day. What are
you going to do, boys? Say we go around to Poke's, and see what is
going on there?"
To this proposition there was eager agreement from all the party save
one; he maintained a somewhat moody silence.
"What say, Dirk?" the leader asked, addressing him; "are you ready for
Poke's?"
"No; I don't think I'll go around, just now."
"What, then? If you've got something better on hand, why don't you let
a fellow know? We're not dying for Poke's place."

"I haven't got a thing on hand; only I don't care about going there."
"Where, then?"
"Nowhere."
"Nowhere! Mean place. Too cold weather to stop in the streets. There'll
be a good fire at Poke's. You come along; don't go to getting the sulks;
it ain't becoming, just after you've been to Sunday-school."
But the young fellow persisted in gloomily refusing to join them, and
presently they began to tease, in what they meant to be a good-natured
way.
"Dirk's struck," said one. "That yellow-haired party has got him by the