Saxon shrugged her shoulders and laughed.

"But if we do wrong we get ours, don't we?" Mary persisted.
"That's what they all say, except Bert. He says he don't care
what he does, he'll never get his, because when he dies he's
dead, an' when he's dead he'd like to see any one put anything
across on him that'd wake him up. Ain't he terrible, though? But
it's all so funny. Sometimes I get scared when I think God's
keepin' an eye on me all the time. Do you think he knows what I'm
sayin' now? What do you think he looks like, anyway?"

"I don't know," Saxon answered. "He's just a funny proposition."

"Oh!" the other gasped.

"He IS, just the same, from what all people say of him," Saxon
went on stoutly. "My brother thinks he looks like Abraham
Lincoln. Sarah thinks he has whiskers."

"An' I never think of him with his hair parted," Mary confessed,
daring the thought and shivering with apprehension. "He just
couldn't have his hair parted. THAT'D be funny."

"You know that little, wrinkly Mexican that sells wire puzzles?"
Saxon queried. "Well, God somehow always reminds me of him."

Mary laughed outright.

"Now that IS funny. I never thought of him like that How do you