“Do you think now that you saw him, Joey?” I questioned, half smiling.
“Well,” he replied slowly, as if pondering the matter, “I was sure then, Mr. David.”
“Where did you see the—er—person whom you believed to be God?” I asked.
“In the village.”
“Did he speak to you, Joey?”
Joey looked at me slyly.
“Oh, Mr. David,” he whispered deprecatingly, “do you ’spose I’d ’spect him to—when I’m a worm?”
I went on with the lesson, vaguely wondering what sort of mind the lady who taught Joey at Sunday School was possessed of.
At the conclusion of the lesson, Joey observed: “Mrs. Olds says our cabin is full of de—deficiencies, Mr. David. What do de—deficiencies do?”
“Deficiencies let flies in, and permit mice to molest the flour barrel,—deficiencies make chimneys smoke, and floors creak.”