Grandma, stimulated by the success of her mixing and moulding, and elated by the profit she saw in it, was often too happy and bustling to remember how young we were, or that we got tired, or had worries of our own to bear.

Our small troubles, however, were soon forgotten, when we could slip away for a while to the lovely playhouse which Leanna had secretly made for us in an excavation in the back yard.  There we forgot work, used our own language, and played we were like other children; for we owned the beautiful cupboard dug in the wall, and the pieces of Delft and broken glass set in rows upon the shelves, also the furniture, made of stumps and blocks of wood, and the two bottles standing behind the brush barricade to act as sentries in case of danger during our absence.

One stolen visit to that playhouse led me into such disgrace, that grandma did not speak to me the rest of the day, and told Jakie all about it.

In the evening, when no one else was near, he called me to him.  I obeyed with downcast head.  Putting his hand under my chin, and turning my face up, he made me look straight into his eyes, as he asked,

“Who broke dat glass cup vat grandma left on die dinner table full of milk, and telled you watch it bis Hendrik come to his dinner, or bis she be done mit her nap?”

I tried to turn my eyes down, but he would not let me, and I faltered, “The chicken knocked it off,—­but he left the door open so it could get in.”

Then, he raised his other hand, shook his finger, and in awe-inspiring tone continued:  “Yes, I be sure die chicken do dat, but vot for you tell grandma dat Heinrick do dat?  Der debil makes peoples tell lies, and den he ketch sie for his fire, und he vill ketch you, if you do dat some more.  Gott, who you mutter telled you ’bout, will not love you.  I will not love you, if you do dat some more.  I be sorry for you, because I tought you vas His little girl, and mine little girl.”

Jakie must have spent much time in collecting so many English words, and they were effective, for before he got through repeating them to me, I was as heart-sore and penitent as a child could be.

After he had forgiven me, he sent me to grandma, later to acknowledge my wrong to Hendrik, and before I slept, I had to tell God what a bad child I had been, and ask Him to make me good.

I had promised to be very careful and to try never to tell another lie, and I had been unhappy enough to want to keep the promise.  But, alas, my sympathy for Jakie led me into more trouble, and it must have been on Sunday too, for he was not working, but sitting reverently under the tree with his elbows upon a table, and his cheeks resting in the hollows of his hands.  Before him lay the Holy Scriptures from which he was slowly reading aloud in solemn tones.

Georgia and I standing a short distance from him, listened very intently.  Not hearing a single English word, and not understanding many of the German, I became deeply concerned and turning to her asked,