"These are all B.C.," he said. "Hundreds of years before."
Faith looked at them, asked what "B.C." meant, and in her turn was not much impressed.
"I shouldn't care for them so much," she said. "It's only because this might—it might, you know—have lain in the Hand of Jesus."
"Oh, you little piece of superstition!" said the old man. "You ought to have been born an R.C. Then you would have believed anything."
"But I might be right," said Faith. "Nobody could make sure I'm not, and I like to think it, very, very much."
"Why are you so religious? Is it the way in your family? Children aren't as a rule. What makes you such a little sober-sides?"
Faith shook her curls.
"I can't tell you," she said, "but I don't feel sober when I come to see you. I feel I could dance for joy, and I don't think I'm religious—we're pretty naughty, as a rule."
Then she put her coin back carefully in its box.
"I think the children who lived in the Bible time when Jesus Christ went about their villages were the most fortunate children in the world."