“Hell?  What’s that?”

“Why, it’s where the devil lives,” said Jerry.  “You’ve heard of him—­you spoke about him.”

“Oh, yes, but I didn’t know he lived anywhere.  I thought he just roamed round.  Mr. Wiley used to mention hell when he was alive.  He was always telling folks to go there.  I thought it was some place over in New Brunswick where he come from.”

“Hell is an awful place,” said Faith, with the dramatic enjoyment that is born of telling dreadful things.  “Bad people go there when they die and burn in fire for ever and ever and ever.”

“Who told you that?” demanded Mary incredulously.

“It’s in the Bible.  And Mr. Isaac Crothers at Maywater told us, too, in Sunday School.  He was an elder and a pillar in the church and knew all about it.  But you needn’t worry.  If you’re good you’ll go to heaven and if you’re bad I guess you’d rather go to hell.”

“I wouldn’t,” said Mary positively.  “No matter how bad I was I wouldn’t want to be burned and burned. I know what it’s like.  I picked up a red hot poker once by accident.  What must you do to be good?”

“You must go to church and Sunday School and read your Bible and pray every night and give to missions,” said Una.

“It sounds like a large order,” said Mary.  “Anything else?”

“You must ask God to forgive the sins you’ve committed.

“But I’ve never com—­committed any,” said Mary.  “What’s a sin any way?”

“Oh, Mary, you must have.  Everybody does.  Did you never tell a lie?”

“Heaps of ’em,” said Mary.

“That’s a dreadful sin,” said Una solemnly.

“Do you mean to tell me,” demanded Mary, “that I’d be sent to hell for telling a lie now and then?  Why, I had to.  Mr. Wiley would have broken every bone in my body one time if I hadn’t told him a lie.  Lies have saved me many a whack, I can tell you.”

Una sighed.  Here were too many difficulties for her to solve.  She shuddered as she thought of being cruelly whipped.  Very likely she would have lied too.  She squeezed Mary’s little calloused hand.

“Is that the only dress you’ve got?” asked Faith, whose joyous nature refused to dwell on disagreeable subjects.

“I just put on this dress because it was no good,” cried Mary flushing.  “Mrs. Wiley’d bought my clothes and I wasn’t going to be beholden to her for anything.  And I’m honest.  If I was going to run away I wasn’t going to take what belong to her that was worth anything.  When I grow up I’m going to have a blue sating dress.  Your own clothes don’t look so stylish.  I thought ministers’ children were always dressed up.”