And Jem and I have often since agreed that we never in all our lives
felt so mean as on that occasion, and we sincerely hope that we never
may.

Indeed, it is only in some books and some sermons that people are
divided into "the wicked" and "the good," and that "the wicked" have no
consciences at all. Jem and I had wilfully gone thieving, but we were
far from being utterly hardened, and the school-mistress's generosity
weighed heavily upon ours. Repentance and the desire to make atonement
seem to go pretty naturally together, and in my case they led to the
following dialogue with Jem, on the subject of two exquisite little
bantam hens and a cock, which were our joint property, and which were
known in the farmyard as "the Major and his wives."

These titles (which vexed my dear mother from the first) had suggested
themselves to us on this wise. There was a certain little gentleman who
came to our church, a brewer by profession, and a major in the militia
by choice, who was so small and strutted so much that to the insolent
observation of boyhood he was "exactly like" our new bantam cock. Young
people are very apt to overhear what is not intended for their
knowledge, and somehow or other we learned that he was "courting" (as
his third wife) a lady of our parish. His former wives are buried in our
churchyard. Over the first he had raised an obelisk of marble, so costly
and affectionate that it had won the hearts of his neighbours in
general, and of his second wife in particular. When she died the gossips
wondered whether the Major would add her name to that of her
predecessor, or "go to the expense" of a new monument. He erected a
second obelisk, and it was taller than the first (height had a curious
fascination for him), and the inscription was more touching than the
other. This time the material was Aberdeen granite, and as that is most