"Well, you find out. Sister Negus doesn't pray that way, nor Sister Jones, nor Sister James, nor any other sisters that I can hear of. It's just your darned old-timed way of holding sinners over the pit to see 'em squirm. Now, will you let up on it?"
"Micah, it is hard to teach an old dog new tricks."
"Then the old dog can go lie down in a corner and hold his tongue. Will he now, or shall I go down to the hotel where the waiters won't be running at me with hymn-books and Bibles?"
"Micah, when Justin's away I'll just read the Scriptures and not pray."
"All right, peony face, I'll stay," and, clapping her heartily on the shoulder, he took his hat and went for a stroll through the town before going to bed.
Derrice went into her husband's room, and, taking his Bible from the stand by his bed, carried it up-stairs.
When he came in a few minutes later he found her sitting by a table in her sitting-room, deep in the story of the creation.
"Who wrote all this?" she asked, looking up.
It seemed almost incredible to the young man that she should not be professing an ignorance she did not possess, yet he knew that she was honest. The Bible had not entered as a factor into her wandering life. He was a product of religious elements, she of worldly ones. In her training religious obligations had been ignored. She was a sweet moral blossom only; it rested with him to add the fragrance of religion to her other attractions.
"Shall I read to you, dolly?" he said, in quiet delight; and, taking the book from her, he explained its source and inspiration, and then plunged into the recital of God's early dealings with men.