"I don't hear a sound. I suppose he has cried himself to sleep,
poor, dear baby. He certainly is dreadfully mischievous;
but it seems to me that it shows an investigating turn of mind,
and if it could only be directed into the proper channels--
I wish Judith would let me have a talk with Mr. Leonard about
Lionel Hezekiah. I wish Judith didn't hate ministers so.
I don't mind so much her not letting me go to church,
because I'm so lame that it would be painful anyhow; but I'd
like to talk with Mr. Leonard now and then about some things.
I can never believe that Judith and father were right; I am sure
they were not. There is a God, and I'm afraid it's terribly
wicked not to go to church. But there, nothing short of a miracle
would convince Judith; so there is no use in thinking about it.
Yes, Lionel Hezekiah must have gone to sleep."
Salome pictured him so, with his long, curling lashes brushing his rosy,
tear-stained cheek and his chubby fists clasped tightly over his breast
as was his habit; her heart grew warm and thrilling with the maternity
the picture provoked.
A year previously Lionel Hezekiah's parents, Abner and Martha Smith,
had died, leaving a houseful of children and very little else.
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