"Don't they sell books, too, daddy? I'd rather have a book than almond rock," she added.
"Why, what do you want with a book, a little 'un like you?" said Coomber, impatiently.
"We both wants it, Dick and me; we wants to find out whether God loves boys as well as gals."
The fisherman looked at her serious little face for a minute, and then burst into a laugh again. "Well, you are a rum 'un as ever I came across. Did you hear that, Bob?" he asked, appealing to his elder son, who was steering. Bob turned his sulky face round.
"What's she saying now?" he asked.
"What was, it little 'un—whether God loved boys and gals, wasn't it?" asked the fisherman, who was highly amused at the question.
"He don't love none of us, I can tell her that," said Bob, sharply. "He forgot us long ago, if ever He knowed anything about us."
"There, what d'ye think o' that, little 'un?" said the fisherman, pulling away at the oars.
Tiny looked perplexed for a minute or two, but at length she said: "I think God knows all about the Point, 'cos He loves me, and He listens when I say my prayers. But s'pose I tell him," she suddenly added, as though the thought had just occurred to her; "I can ask Him to bless you and mammy, and Dick and Bob. But I should like to get a book," she said, in conclusion.
"Oh, the sweets 'll do as well," said the fisherman, who saw little use in books. He might have humoured Tiny in what he looked upon as a most extraordinary whim, but he never remembered seeing such a thing as a book in Fellness all the years he had known the place. People might have books, some of them, at least, but they were not of much use to fisher-folks, and he rather despised them.