“I’ve asked God to send her down,” said Pollio; “but He won’t. I sha’n’t pray to God any more. You may if you want to, Posy; but I sha’n’t. I keep a-talkin’, and He don’t say a word.”
Now was the time for Nunky to tell them something about God; but what should he say? What could they understand?
“God does speak to you, Pollio: not in words; but he speaks to your heart.”
“Oh! does He? I know where my heart is,—right here under my jag-knife pocket.”
“Well, there is a voice in there sometimes, that tells you when you do wrong.”
“Is there?—-Put your ear down, Posy. Can you hear anyfing?”
“No, no,” said Nunky, trying not to smile: “the voice isn’t heard; it is felt. Tell me, little ones, don’t you feel sorry when you do wrong?”
“When I get sent to bed I do,” said Pollio.
“Once I felt awful bad when I fell down cellar,” remarked Posy.