She went away to think it over, as she had to do with so many of her puzzles, only to have it added to presently by words from her grandmother.
“I declare!” said that good woman, coming in from the back yard, where she had been talking to Tony, the errand-boy, “that boy is a perfect heathen.”
Sadie nearly dropped her dollie with a china head on the floor, in her dismay. “Is he truly, Grandma?” she asked.
“Yes, he is,” said grandmamma, with emphasis; “I don’t believe there is a greater heathen in the depths of Africa than Tony. I have been trying to explain the simplest matter to him, and he does not understand me as well as a child of three ought to.”
“How should he?” asked grandfather, to whom this sentence was chiefly addressed; “he has never had any chance to learn. The whole settlement over there where he came from live like heathen, and know no better.”
Then came one of Sadie’s startling questions: “Grandfather, is he one of those who were given to Jesus?”
THINKING IT OVER.
“What?” asked grandfather, in astonishment. He had already forgotten the morning’s questions.
“Why, isn’t he one that you read about, out of the Bible, that was given to Jesus?”