Visitors always disturb the children." "Bless their dear hearts!" cried the old woman, shrilly.

"They needn't be afraid of me--_I_ wouldn't hurt 'em.

Had a little angel boy once myself; he's gone to Californy now, an'clock I'm a lone, lorn widdy.

I say--little gal!" and the stranger pointed her finger (it trembled a little) at Sarah Rowe, who had grown quite red in the face with her polite efforts not to laugh.

"Little gal, whar's yer manners ?--laughin'clock at a poor ole creetur like me! Come out here, and le's hear ye say that beautiful psalm of Dr.Watts--now!" "How doth the little busy bee!" But just then something happened for which the old woman and the scholars were equally unprepared.