"All you're good for, I
reckon, is to shuck corn or peel potatoes!"
For a minute Abel stared at her in silence. "I declare, mother, I don't
believe you're any better than a heathen," he remarked sadly at last.
"Well, I'm not the kind of Christian you are, anyway," retorted Sarah,
"I'd like to know whar you'll find anything in Scripture about not
knockin' a man down because he asks you for a lantern. I thought I knew
my Bible--but I reckon you are better acquainted with it--you an' yo'
Mr. Mullen."
"Of course, you know your Bible. I wasn't meanin' that."
"Then if readin' yo' Bible ain't bein' a Christian, I suppose it's
havin' curly hair, an' gittin' up in the pulpit an' mincin'. Who are
those slippers for, Keren-happuch?"
"Mr. Mullen, grandma."
"Well, if I was goin' to embroider slippers for a minister," taunted
Sarah, "I'd take care to choose one that could repeat his Scripture when
he was called on."
"Ah, 'tis the age, not the man," lamented grandfather, "'tis an age of
small larnin' an' weak-kneed an' mealy mouthed into the bargain. Why,
they're actually afeared to handle hell-fire in the pulpit any longer,
an' the texts they spout are that tame an' tasteless that 'tis like
dosin' you with flaxseed tea when you're needin' tar-water.
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