“What's your name?” asked Jimmy presently.
“Aunt Minerva says it's William Green Hill, but 'tain't, it's jest plain Billy,” responded the little boy.
“Ain't God a nice, good old man,” remarked Billy, after they had swung in silence for a while, with an evident desire to make talk.
“That He is,” replied Jimmy, enthusiastically. “He's 'bout the forgivingest person ever was. I just couldn't get 'long at all 'thout Him. It don't make no differ'nce what you do or how many times you run off, all you got to do is just ask God to forgive you and tell him you're sorry and ain't going to do so no more, that night when you say your prayers, and it's all right with God. S'posing He was one of these wants-his-own-way kind o' mans, He could make Hi'self the troublesomest person ever was, and little boys couldn't do nothing a tall. I sure think a heap of God. He ain't never give me the worst of it yet.”
“I wonder what He looks like,” mused Billy.
“I s'pec' He just looks like the three-headed giant in Jack the Giant-Killer,” explained Jimmy, “'cause He's got three heads and one body. His heads are name' Papa, Son, and Holy Ghost, and His body is just name' plain God. Miss Cecilia 'splained it all to me and she is 'bout the splendidest 'splainer they is. She's my Sunday-School teacher.”
“She's goin' to be my Sunday-School teacher, too,” said Billy serenely.
“Yours nothing; you all time want my Sunday-School teacher.”
“Jimmee!” called a voice from the interior of the house in the next yard.
“Somebody's a-callin' you,” said Billy.