Dot pulled herself upright, and assumed a solemn air.
"Gazi was a naughty wicked tory-teller," she said. "Tory-tellers am always wicked. And when Lisha asked him, 'Where'd he'd been and wented to?'—Gazi said he'd not been wented nowhere. And then he got all twite whited all over him."
"But he had been somewhere, hadn't he?"
"Oh,—m-yes,—he'd been and wented after that other man, what was made well. He was naughty, too, only he didn't tell no tories, and then he was good. And he wanted for to give Lisha fings,—lots and lots of fings, and nice focks and ever so much pennies. And Lisha wouldn't have nofink; 'n so Gazi thoughted he'd go an' get somefink nice. And he wented and telled a lot of big tories—big, big tories," repeated Dot impressively. "And so he gotted all white, all over hims."
"That was his punishment, wasn't it?"
"Him's punishment," repeated Dot.
"Dot, you don't mean ever to tell stories, do you?"
Dot shook her head vehemently.
"Cause I'd get all white."
"I think if you told stories, you would have to be punished in some way. It might not be in the same way as Gehazi. But God is our Father, you know, and a Father has to punish His little children when they are naughty, so as to make them learn to be good. You don't want to be naughty, do you, and to make God sorry?"