he drawled, "He haven't made many, true enough. I'm not sayin' He mightn't have made more. But He've done very well. They's enough--oh, ay, they's enough t' get along with. For, look you! lad, they's no real need
o' any more. 'Twas wonderful kind of Un," he went on, swept away by a flood of good feeling, as often happened, "t' make even one little flower. Sure, He didn't have
t' do it. He just went an' done it for love of us. Ay," he repeated, delighting himself with this new thought of his Lord's goodness, "'twas wonderful kind o' the Lard t' take so much trouble as that!"
My mother was looking deep into Skipper Tommy's eyes as though she saw some lovely thing therein.
"Ay," said I, "'twas fair kind; but I'm wishin' He'd been a bit more free."
My mother smiled at that. Then, "And my son," she said, in the way of one poking fun, "would have flour grow out of the ground!"
"An' did he say that!" cried Skipper Tommy.
My mother laughed, and Skipper Tom