"Yes."
"Won't he go to a place where God'll find him, if he ain't sprinkled?"
"No."
"That air strange. The poor brat air so blue, so shiverin'—he air so sick! Aw! Christ'll love him, 'cause he ain't got no friends."
Her eyes spread wide with infinite compassion as she contemplated the grave-shadowed child.
"Did the student tell ye that the Bible were a-sayin' that?" she asked peremptorily.
"Yes; and my father has often preached upon it. I know that it is true," insisted Teola. "A child must be cleansed of its original sin in the church.... You see? You see, Tess?"
"I don't see—I don't know, nuther. But what the student says air right. If the little kid ain't to see God's face 'less he air slapped on the head with water in the church, then the brat air got to be tooked there."
"But—but, Tess, is it possible?"
Again the squatter bent her head to gather the words.