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THE IRON AGE
They 'ad a pryer for our 'eathen 'earts
As they washed us down with suds,
An' thort as we 'ad a bran' new soul
W'en they'd burnt our 'Ounds-Ditch duds.
THE IRON AGE
PEGGY was certainly a tomboy. She openly scoffed at "The Pansy Stories" and "Little Wives" and "The Wide, Wide World," but strange to say, devoured all such books as "The Boys' Own Annual," "Deadwood Dick," "The Headless Horseman; or The Terror of Tamaraska Gulch," and any literature on Indians, dire adventure, and bloodshed which came into her hands.
And many tears were shed over poor Miss Peggy, and many were the solemn and supposedly impressive lectures read to her. But for all those lectures she continued to slide down the banisters, and openly whistle before company. In fact Miss Peggy did not approve of company, and was never happier than when staring the rector's nervous wife out of countenance.
Peggy took an unholy delight in tumbling on the hay in the stables, though Hawkins, the coachman, always was at pains to point out to her that 'orses could never heat 'ay as was trampled on, and artfully, but uselessly, insinuated that a species of horrible green snake abounded in the
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