The child waited in a large clean room. Ladies in white caps fluttered in and out, and one brought him milk and wonderful things to eat; and later his mother returned with a larger parcel than usual and they left the place behind them. It was not until they were beyond the gates that the child broke his silence, and then he looked round carefully before speaking.
“He didn’t look so very glorious,” he said.
“Who didn’t?” demanded his mother.
“God.”
His mother dropped her bundle. Fortunately it was on a soft place.
“What maggot has the child got into his head?” she ejaculated. “What do you mean by ‘God’?”
“Him,” persisted Anthony. “Isn’t it from him that we get all these good things?” He pointed to the parcel.
His mother picked it up. “Who’s been talking to you?” she asked.
“I overheard her,” explained the child. “She said it was from God that we got all our good things. Ain’t it?”
His mother took him by the hand and they trudged on. She did not answer for a time.