"Do you go every time?"
"What, to prayer-meeting? What a funny idea. No, of course not. It stormed, you know, and we had to go in somewhere. Wasn't it an awful night?"
"Who is Jesus, anyhow?"
"Why, he is God. Tode, how queer you act. Why don't you ask Mr. Birge, or somebody, if you want to know such things. Mamma says he is awful."
"Awful!"
"Yes, awful good, you know. He's the minister down there at that chapel. Wasn't it a funny looking church? Ours don't look a bit like that. Tode, where do you go to church?"
"My!" said Tode, with his old merry chuckle. "That's a queer one. I don't go to church nowhere; never did."
"You ought to," answered Miss Dora, with a sudden assumption of dignity. "It isn't nice not to go to church and to Sunday-school. I go. Pliny doesn't, because he has the headache so much. Shall I show you my card?"
And she produced from her pocket a dainty bit of pasteboard, and held it up.
"There, that's our verse. The whole school learn it for next Sunday. Then we shall have a speech about it."