“Well, sing it agen,” said Flo. The little girl sang.
“Wot’s ‘read and pray’?” asked Flo.
“Oh! doesn’t you know? Read! hout o’ books of course; and pray! pray to God—you knows that?”
“No, I doesn’t,” said Flo.
“Oh dear,” said the other child rather patronisingly, “doesn’t you know, ‘Our—Father—chart—’eaven’? Why, yer be hignorant.”
“Yes, I be,” said Flo, no way offended. “I knows nothink ’cept being honest. Wot’s ‘Our Father,’ Janey?”
“Oh! ’tis quite long,” said Janey, “you couldn’t ’member it a bit. ‘Our—Father—chart ’eaven.’ Our Father lives in ’eaven. There! that’s hall—I’m in a ’urry.”
“Then that ain’t true,” said Flo, “that ain’t a bit o’ it true. My father ain’t in ’eaven, wherehever that is, ’ee’s dead and in ’is grave, and yer father is at the Dolphin most times I guess. I wouldn’t tell lies ef I was you.”
The pale girl flushed up angrily.
“There now, yer real oncivil,” she said, “and I’ll ’ave no more words wid yer.”