“No odds,” says I. “An’ if I’m a liar,” says I, “I ’low I’m a fool for it?”
“You is.”
“Then, my maid,” cries I, in triumph, “you’ll be keepin’ me company in hell! You’ve called me a fool. ‘An’ whoso calleth his brother a fool––’”
“Oh no,” says she, quite undisturbed. “’Tis not so.”
“Not so?”
“Why, no, child! Didn’t you know?”
“But it says so!”
“Dannie, child,” says she, with unruffled superiority, “I come down from heaven one year an’ five months after God sent you. An’ God told me, Dannie, just afore I left Un at the Gate, that He’d changed His mind about that.”
The particular color of this stupendous prevarication I am still unable to determine....