But you aren't like that. _Are_ you?"
He looked self-conscious and mumbled, earnestly, "Well, I try
not to be."
"But I am going to make you go to church. You'll be a socialist
or something like that if you get to be too much of a poet and
don't--"
"Miss Nelly, please _may_ I go to church with you?"
"Why--"
"Next Sunday?"
"Why, yes, I should be pleased. Are you a Presbyterian, though?"
"Why--uh--I guess I'm kind of a Congregationalist; but still,
they're all so much alike."
"Yes, they really are. And besides, what does it matter if we
all believe the same and try to do right; and sometimes that's hard,
when you're poor, and it seems like--like--"
"Seems like what?" Mr. Wrenn insisted.
"Oh--nothing.... My, you'll have to get up awful early Sunday
morning if you'd like to go with me. My church starts at
ten-thirty."
"Oh, I'd get up at five to go with you."
"Stupid! Now you're just trying to jolly me; you _are_;
because you men aren't as fond of church as all that, I know you
aren't.
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