"Us wouldn't think so much of it," Mrs. Purcell went on, "if she didn't set up for bein' somethin' o' extras. I don't make no count o' no such Christians. Mis' Busby wouldn't miss the Communion!—" And the speaker looked up at Rotha, as if to see what she thought on the subject.
"There are different sorts of Christians," said Rotha. "Meanwhile, how shall we arrange things, Mrs. Purcell?"
"Will all sorts of Christians get to heaven," was Mrs. Purcell's response, the query put with her sharp black eyes as well as with her lips.
"Why no! Of course not. Christians are not all alike; but it is only true
Christians whom the Lord will call his own."
"How aint they alike? how is they different?"
"Real Christians? Well—some of them are ignorant, and some are wise. Some have had good teachings and good helpers, and some have had none; it makes a difference."
"I thought they was all one."
"So they are, in the main things. They all love Christ, and trust in his blood, and do his will. So far as they know it, at least. 'Whosoever shall do the will of my Father which is in heaven, the same is my brother, and sister, and mother.' So Jesus said, when he was upon earth."
Mrs. Purcell stopped in what she was doing and looked up at Rotha. "That aint in my 'little blue John,'" she said.
"No, I think the words are in Matthew."