“I was thinking,” she returned, coming out of a deep study, “what I would do to Him, if he should turn out a drunkard.”

“Oh, but he won’t,” said Lizzie. “You’ll take care of that, beforehand.”

“I shall try to take care of it beforehand, but he might deceive me. Oh, my dear, all those fellows with their tricks and their manners do deceive!” With the little fist in full action. “And if so, I tell you what I think I’d do. When he was asleep, I’d make a spoon red hot, and I’d have some boiling liquor bubbling in a saucepan, and I’d take it out hissing, and I’d open his mouth with the other hand⁠—or perhaps he’d sleep with his mouth ready open⁠—and I’d pour it down his throat, and blister it and choke him.”

“I am sure you would do no such horrible thing,” said Lizzie.

“Shouldn’t I? Well; perhaps I shouldn’t. But I should like to!”