“Go long! W’ats dat—aspiration?”
“Why, to say any kind of little prayer; or if you invoke our Lord, or our Blessed Lady, or one of the saints, that’s an aspiration. You can make them just as quick as you can think—you can make hundreds and hundreds in a day.”
“My Lan’! Dat’s w’at you’se studyin’ ’bout w’en you’se steppin’ ’roun’ heah like a droopy pullet? An’ I t’ought you was studyin’ ’bout dat beau you lef’ yonda to Sent Lous.”
“You mustn’t say such things to me; I’m going to be a religious.”
“How dat gwine henda you have a beau ef you’se religious?”
“The religious never get married,” turning very red, “and don’t live in the world like others.”
“Look heah, chile, you t’inks I’se fool? Religion—no religion, whar you gwine live ef you don’ live in de word? Gwine live up in de moon?”
“You’re a very ignorant person,” replied Lucilla, highly offended. “A religious devotes her life to God, and lives in the convent.”
“Den w’y you neva said ‘convent’? I knows all ’bout convent. W’at you gwine do wid dem ax w’en de papah done all fill up?” handing the singular tablet back to her.
“Oh,” replied Lucilla, “when I have thousands and thousands I gain twenty-five years’ indulgence.”