Eugene was a very mischievous little boy and his mother's patience was
worn to the limit. She had spoken very nicely to him several times
without effect. Finally she said:
"You are a perfect little heathen!"
"Do you mean it?" demanded Eugene.
"Indeed, I do," said the mother.
"Then, mother," said the boy, "why can't I keep that ten cents a week
you gimme for the Sunday-school collection? I guess I'm as hard up as
any of the rest of 'em."