A piece of information that
really, all things considered, seemed unnecessary.
"But can't you see yourself, you wicked child, without stripping yourself
as naked as you were born?"
"No," maintained Joan stoutly. "I hate clothes." As a matter of fact
she didn't, even in those early days. On the contrary, one of her
favourite amusements was "dressing up." This sudden overmastering desire
to arrive at the truth about herself had been a new conceit.
"I wanted to see myself. Clothes ain't me," was all she would or could
vouchsafe; and Mrs. Munday had shook her head, and had freely confessed
that there were things beyond her and that Joan was one of them; and had
succeeded, partly by force, partly by persuasion, in restoring to Joan
once more the semblance of a Christian child.
It was Mrs. Munday, poor soul, who all unconsciously had planted the
seeds of disbelief in Joan's mind. Mrs. Munday's God, from Joan's point
of view, was a most objectionable personage. He talked a lot--or rather
Mrs. Munday talked for Him--about His love for little children.
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