Fiske,
was buried fifteen years ago, and I haven't adopted any
since. As for being a Christian, I was that, I hope
and believe, when you were crawling about the floor in
petticoats.' THAT squelched him, believe ME. Mind
you, Anne dearie, I'm not down on all evangelists.
We've had some real fine, earnest men, who did a lot of
good and made the old sinners squirm. But this
Fiske-man wasn't one of them. I had a good laugh all
to myself one evening. Fiske had asked all who were
Christians to stand up. _I_ didn't, believe me! I
never had any use for that sort of thing. But most of
them did, and then he asked all who wanted to be
Christians to stand up. Nobody stirred for a spell, so
Fiske started up a hymn at the top of his voice. Just
in front of me poor little Ikey Baker was sitting in
the Millison pew. He was a home boy, ten years old,
and Millison just about worked him to death. The poor
little creature was always so tired he fell asleep
right off whenever he went to church or anywhere he
could sit still for a few minutes. He'd been sleeping
all through the meeting, and I was thankful to see the
poor child getting a rest, believe ME.
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