"Stop!" said William, lifting one of his thin, white hands and waving it imperatively at her. "You must not speak irreverently. I know you don't mean it, but——"
"Jest answer me, this, sir—is your leg hurtin' any worse?"
"No," replied William, mollified.
"Not a mite?" she insisted.
"No, I am much easier of the pain."
"Well, then, I'm goin' to say this much more even if it strangles you: the word God stands for something in the hearts of men and women bigger'n a Paradise gardener with a taste for music!"
"You don't put it fair, Sister Prout," said William, aggrieved.
"I can't put it in as fine language as Saint John, if that's what you mean."
"What is the nature of God as you see Him?"
We are made very queer by the soul, not nearly so much alike as we are in other respects. I saw now the same light pass over Sal's face that I had often seen in William's, yet they could not agree about their one Heavenly Father.