ME AN’ BAB.

Joy Vetrepont.

ME an’ Bab we went to church, an’ Bab she saw a mouse. An’—course she wanted to catch him. An’ she slipped out under my sack, where I’d hid her when we went to church, an’ was out of the pew quicker’n no time.

Well, my pa’s a dicken, an’ he had a correction-box, an’ he was a-leanin’ over with the correction-box stretched out so ’t Frankie Hill, what sat in the farthest corner, could put in a cent, an’ all the people was givin’ centses, top, an’ ten cents, too, an’ five cents, too, and he was a-stretchin’ out the correction-box to Frankie, an’ just then the mouse ran right acrost his feet an’ Bab after him. An’ my papa he gave a queer sort of a cry, an’ dropped the correction-box, an’ all the centses fell on the floor in Frankie Hill’s pew, an’—an’ my pa’s face went redder’n red, an’ his ears, an’ his neck, an’ he turns around an’ sees our Bab scamperin’ after the mouse, an’ he started to go after her, an’ everybody on our side was a-lookin’ at Bab, an’ the people on the other side that couldn’t see Bab was lookin’ at my pa, an’ then they all looked at Mr. Green—that’s the minister—an’ Mr. Green he was lookin’ orful solemn. An’ the mouse ran acrost the raised places covered with red carpet, where the minister sits, an’ he ran under his chair, an’ Bab after him. An’ all the dickens had laid down their correction-boxes an’ was goin’ there, too—not under the chair I don’t mean—but up to the raised place with red carpet, an’ the mouse he scampered to the door that’s one side of where the min’ster sits, an’ he couldn’t get out, an’ there wasn’t no hole for him, an’ Bab was after him lickety split, an’—an’—he comed back an’ ran into old Miss Tromley’s pew, an’ she screamed an’ ran out, an’ then there was a reg’lar scrimmage; an’ the dickens was all mixed up, an’ Bab was among their feet, an’ my pa he stooped down, an’ then he came down ’tween the pews with Bab in his arms, an’ his face was orful. An’ he went out with Bab, an’ the other dickens went for their boxes.

An’ Mr. Green he dropped his hank-cher, and he was orful long pickin’ it up; an’ then he coughed, an’ hid his face in his hank’cher, an’ he shooked all over just like he did when my pa told that story about the dicken what put the wrong plaster on his nose; an’ everybody was laughin’, but I was cryin’, ’cause I didn’t know what my pa would do to Bab—or—or—me.

An’ Frankie Hill was pickin’ up centses in his pew when my pa comed back; an’ he took me by the arm, an’ led me out of church, an’ says, very stern—

“Go home!”

An’ our house is close by, so I went all by myself, an’ my pa went back to his correction-box. An’ I don’t know what came of the mouse; but Jemima Jane says it’s a good thing my ma’s away, an’ I’ll get a proper “correction-box” when she gets home.