“Yes ma’am.”
“Hast thou aired thy bed and prayed in private, earnestly seeking forgiveness for thy sins of yesterday?” Mrs. Lane came down the long hall and eyed with disapproval the girl sitting idly on the top step of the porch.
A sullen look passed over Debby’s face. “I’ve aired my bed,” answered she.
“And humbly besought pardon for thy sins?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Why not, Deborah?”
“Because I haven’t been sinning.”
“Child, thy soul is in danger of eternal punishment!”
“I don’t care.” Debby had suffered so much in various forms during her short life, that the subject had ceased to interest her.
She never trembled as did the well cared for little Puritans, over Elder Morris’ prayers. His lurid descriptions rather charmed her. There seemed no doubt in Plymouth but that Bill Mason was doomed, and where her father went, Debby wanted to go too, consequently no threat could touch her.