"Then I'll do what I please with them."
I picked out the largest, and stooping down beside her, continued: "You must eat these or I won't eat any."
"Thee's very like Emily Warren," the little girl laughed; "thee gets around me before I know it."
"I'll give you all the strawberries for that compliment."
"No, thee must take half."
"Mrs. Yocomb, you and I will divide, too. Could there possibly be a more delicious combination!" and Miss Warren smacked her lips appreciatively.
"The strawberry was evolved by a chance combination of forces," I remarked.
"Undoubtedly," added Miss Warren, "so was my Geneva watch."
"I like to think of the strawberry in this way," said Mrs. Yocomb. "There are many things in the Scriptures hard to understand; so there are in Nature. But we all love the short text: 'God is love.' The strawberry is that text repeated in Nature."
"Mrs. Yocomb, you could convert infidels and pagans with a gospel of strawberries," I cried.