"Well, there aint no religion in that, no how."
"No, there aint."
"Well now, you wouldn't think it, but I've studied into religion a heap in my life."
"Don't seem to have done you much good."
"No it aint, not yet, but I've studied into it, and I know what it is."
"There aint but one way, Benny."
"I know it."
"Repent of your sins, and believe in Christ, and be immersed—that's all."
"I know it."
"Well, I hope the Lord'll bring you to it, 'fore you die."
"Reckon he will—hope so, sure."
"You wouldn't hardly think that fat man was a preacher himself, would you?" said the landlady to me, after they left.
"Certainly not."
"He is, though, but I don't think much of that sort;" and the landlady immediately began to describe to me the religious history of the neighbourhood. It was some different here, she said she reckoned, in reply to a remark of mine, from what it was at the North. Most respectable people became pious here before they got to be very old, especially ladies. Young ladies were always gay and went to balls till they were near twenty years old, but from eighteen to twenty-five they generally got religion, and then they stopped right short, and never danced or carried on any after that. Sometimes it wasn't till after they were married, but there weren't many ladies who had children that warn't pious. She herself was an exception, for she had three children and had not got religion yet; sometimes she was frightened to think how old she was—her children growing up about her; but she did so like dancing—she hoped her turn would come—she knew it would
