“To come, dear,” corrected the mother.
“To come,” repeated Paul. “Does that mean in hell, Mother?” the clear, high voice demanded cheerfully.
There was a pause, then, “Yes, dear. Now say it again, ‘What does every sin deserve?’” The answer was given with fair correctness.
“But God doesn’t ever send any one to hell, Mother, does He? Asa Sleeman says it’s a fire worse’n the lime kiln—an’ He wouldn’t do that, would He? He couldn’t, you know.”
“What makes you think so, dear?” asked the mother anxiously. The man listened, breathless.
“Because no one would ever sin more’n four hundred and ninety times a day, would he? An’ that means in half a day, because he sleeps almost half a day, and that would be four hundred and ninety times in half a day.”
“What in the world do you mean, Paul? Four hundred and ninety times?”
“Why, Mother, don’t you remember what Jesus said to the asciples?” Paul had difficulty with his dental and other initial consonants.
“What was that? I forget,” replied the bewildered mother.
“Oh, Mother, I didn’t appose you would forget that—our very last lesson.”