Nancy, who had chosen the good name of Lillian May, wanted to go with him.

She, too, it appeared, was fresh from a Sunday-school book--one in which a girl of her own age was so proud of her long raven curls that she was brought to an illness and all her hair came out.

There was a distressing picture of this little girl after a just Providence had done its work as a depilatory.

And after she recovered from the fever, it seemed, she had cared to do nothing but read the Scriptures to bed-ridden old ladies--even after a good deal of her hair came in again--though it didn't curl this time.

The only pleasure she ever experienced thereafter was that, by virtue of her now singularly angelic character, she was enabled to convert an elderly female Papist--an achievement the joys of which were problematic, both to Nancy and the little boy.