"Miss Janet," said Lydia, speaking very softly, "who made de lightning-bugs?"
"God made them," said Miss Janet.
"Did God make de nanny-goats, too?"
"You know that God made every thing," said Miss Janet. "I have often told you so."
"He didn't make mammy's house, ma'am; I seed de men makin it."
"No; man makes houses, but God made all the beautiful things in nature. He made man, and trees, and rivers, and such things as man could not make."
Lydia looked up at the sky. The sun had set, and the moon was coming forth, a few stars glistened there. Long, fleecy clouds extended over the arch of heaven, and some passing ones for a moment obscured the brightness that gilded the beautiful scene.
"Miss Janet," said Lydia, "its mighty pretty there; but 'spose it was to fall."
"What was to fall?"
"De sky, ma'am."
"It cannot fall. God holds it in its place."
Another interval and Lydia said: "Miss Janet, 'spose God was to die, den de sky would broke down."
"What put such a dreadful thought into your head, child?" said Miss Janet. "God cannot die."
"Yes, ma'am, he kin," said Lydia.
"No, he cannot. Have I not often told you that God is a spirit? He created all things, but he never was made; he cannot die."
Lydia said inquiringly, "Wasn't Jesus Christ God, ma'am?"
"Yes, he was the Son of God, and he was God."
"Well, ma'am, he died onct, dat time de Jews crucified him--dat time de ground shook, and de dead people got up--dat time he was nailed to de cross. So, ma'am, if God died onct, couldn't he die agin?"
