THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 129

CHAPTER XIII.
THE DAY OF JUDGMENT.

AM fourteen years old, and Jill is twelve and a quarter.
J. Jill is my brother. That isn’t his name, you know; his
name is Timothy, and mine is George Zacharias ; but they ’ve
always called us Jack and Jill. I’m sure I don’t see why.
If we’d had much water to carry —but it isn’t a well at
our house, it’s pipes; and we never broke our heads on
hills, or anything of that kind; the most I ever broke was a
toe-joint, and it was splintered up, besides the gash in Jill’s
neck from coasting.

But I don’t think you often understand about names.
There ’s Maher-shalal-hash-baz, for instance. We had that at
Sunday school last Sunday. I’m glad I was n’t Isaiah’s boy.

Well, Jill and I had an invitation down to Aunt John’s
this summer, and that was how we happened to be there.
It’s a great thing to have an invitation to Aunt John’s. We
don’t go visiting in our family without invitations; I mean
if we ’re relations. We like it better. Then they ’re glad to
see you, and the girl isn’t sick, and there’s berry-cake for
supper, and you have the spare room, and like as not maple-
syrup on your flapjacks. Once I had broiled chicken for

breakfast three times a week at Cousin Palmer’s.
6* I