“Can’t I go, papa?” asked Louis, to whom the foregoing had been simply wasted breath.
“Of course, my son. I will carry you myself. We will show the good church members two more infidels who can keep up to their word without being kept.”
“It’s just awful to think of that child being brought up to believe like that,” said Polly as she covered her sponge and set it away to rise.
“Well, ’tis and ’taint, Polly,” answered Sally thoughtfully. “First place, he’s one of them children which of such is the kingdom of Heaven, and the good Lord will take care of his own; and, second, how better could he be raised than to want to be a little Christ-child, and ready to cry if he’s told he can’t?”
“But he thinks it is all a fairy-tale.”
“As it were,” said Sally. “What’s the difference between fairy-tale and history, Polly Price, to a baby five years old?”
“But when he gets older, Aunt Sally”—
“You take my advice, Polly, don’t you never cross a bridge till you come to it. If the good Lord don’t take care of him when he gets older, it’ll be time for you to interfere. Now, ketch hold and rench out Mrs. Rolf’s coffee-pot, will you? and I’ll pour the coffee into it. And if them pork chops ain’t done to a turn, I lose my guess. Cream gravy, too, for a treat for Christmas!”
“Last Christmas,” said Susan, “we had nothing to eat but the heel of a loaf, so hard we soaked it in water before we could bite into it.”
Sally stood for a moment with misty eyes; her volubility was gone on this subject. Then, as a sound of feet stamping off snow was heard at the door, she said with fervor, “Good Lord!” and fell to work upon the business in hand.