Can't think why papa giggled the next moment, if
I was a shocking girl: it is all puzzle--puzzle--puzzle."
One day she said, "Can you tell me where all the bad people are buried?
for that puzzles me dreadful."
Compton was posed at first, but said at last he thought they were
buried in the churchyard, along with the good ones.
"Oh, indeed!" said she, with an air of pity. "Pray, have you ever been
in the churchyard, and read the writings on the stones?"
"No."
"Then I have. I have read every single word; and there are none but
good people buried _there,_ not one." She added, rather pathetically,
"You should not answer me without thinking, as if things were easy,
instead of so hard. Well, one comfort, there are not many wicked people
hereabouts; they live in towns; so I suppose they are buried in the
garden, poor things, or put in the water with a stone."
Compton had no more plausible theory ready, and declined to commit
himself to Ruperta's; so that topic fell to the ground.
One day he found her perched as usual, but with her bright little face
overclouded.
By this time the intelligent boy was fond enough of her to notice her
face. "What's the matter, Perta?"
"Ruperta. The matter? Puzzled again! It is very serious this time."
"Tell me, Ruperta.
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