I knew, says the missionary in question, it would be of no use pursuing the subject at that time, so I was silent, and it dropped for the moment.
In speaking of him dying I had touched a very tender and disagreeable chord, for he looked very savage and sulky, and I saw by the rapid changes in his countenance that he was the subject of some internal emotion. At length he broke out using most violent gesticulations, and exhibiting a most inhuman expression of countenance, “Suppose God was here I must kill him, one minute.”
“You what? You kill God?” exclaimed I, quite taken aback and almost breathless with the novel and diabolical notion, “You kill God? why you talk all some fool (like a fool); you cannot kill God; and suppose it possible that He could die, everything would cease to exist. He is the Spirit of the Universe. But he can kill you.”
“I know I cannot kill him; but suppose I could kill him I would.”
“Where does God live?”
“For top.”
“How?” He pointed to the zenith.
“And suppose you could, why would you kill him?”
“Because he makes men to die.”
“Why, my friend,” in a conciliatory manner, “you would not wish to live for ever, would you?”