“I speak, my child,” she explained, “only poetically, not religiously.”
“Oh,” said Marion, dubiously; then after a moment of silent work she stopped and regarded the old woman earnestly.
“Dear grandma, you aren’t a heathen, are you?”
“Dear grandma” grunted, but went on with her work, her little old face puckered into a rather disdainful expression.
“Are you, grandma?” pleaded Marion.
“Little girls make foolish question,” she answered finally, crossly.
“Well, are you a Christian, dear grandma?” persisted Marion.
“Certainly I am,” replied the old lady, with dignity.
Marion kissed her impulsively, whereupon she declared that the little girl was honorably rude, and no help at all.
“Join your sisters for flowers,” she ordered.