"Well," her father said impatiently, "can't you remember the rest? 'Works
done by unregenerate men are sinful, and cannot please God,' you know.
Go on."

But Alfaretta could not go on, and the elder would not betray his own
lack of memory by attempting to quote.

"So you see," he continued, "it isn't any use to talk of how good and
kind she is, or what she does; it is what she believes that will settle
her eternal salvation."

But Alfaretta was unconvinced. "Well, sir," she said stubbornly, "it
don't seem to me that way, fer she's the best woman, except mother, I
ever saw. I reckon if anybody goes to heaven, she will; don't you,
Thaddeus?"

Thaddeus was tilting back in his chair, his curly black head against the
whitewashed wall, and thus suddenly and embarrassingly appealed to--for
he was divided between a desire to win the approval of the elder and to
show his devotion to Alfaretta--he brought his chair down with a clatter
of all four legs on the floor, and looked first at the father and then at
the daughter, but did not speak.

"Don't you, Thaddeus?" repeated Alfaretta severely, for the elder was
dumb with astonishment.

"Well," said Thaddeus, struggling for some opinion which should please
both,--"well, I do suppose we can hope for the best; that isn't against
the catechism."