“The undertaker?” he murmured. “Do I look like that?”
“Excuse me, sir,” said Carolyn May. “I don’t really know you, you know. Maybe you’re not the undertaker.”
“No, I am not. Though our undertaker, Mr. Snivvins, is a very good man.”
“Yes, sir,” said the little girl politely.
“I am the pastor here—your pastor, I hope,” he said, putting a kind hand upon her head.
“Oh, I know you now!” said Carolyn May brightly. “You’re the man Uncle Joe says is going to get a strangle hold on Satan, now that vacation is over.”
The Reverend Afton Driggs looked rather odd again. The shocking frankness of the child came pretty near to flooring him.
“I—ahem! Your uncle compliments me,” he said drily. “You don’t know that he is ready to do his share, do you?”
“His share?” repeated the puzzled little girl.
“Towards strangling the Evil One,” pursued the minister, a wry smile curling the corners of his lips.