This we all know, that sin came into the world by the law.  
Dirty's Ten Commandments have brought it to us.
 
When she comes, she now always has Luther's terrible Little Catechism[1] and Balslev's equally objectionable work with her. Her parents evidently look upon it as most natural that she should also cultivate her soul at our house.
 
Her copies of these two classics were not published yesterday. They are probably heirlooms in Dirty's family. They are covered in thick brown paper, which again is protected by a heavy layer of dirt against any touch of clean fingers. They can be at a distance.
 
But my little boy is no .
 
When Dirty has finished her studies—she always reads out aloud—he asks her permission to turn over the pages of the works in which she finds those strange words. He stares respectfully at the letters which he cannot read. And then he asks questions.
 
He asks Dirty, he asks the servant, he asks us. Before anyone suspects it, he is at home in the whole field of theology.
 
He knows that God is in Heaven, where all good people go to Him, while the wicked are put down below in Hell. That God created the world in six days and said that we must not do anything on Sundays. That God can do everything and knows everything and sees everything.
 
He often prays, creeps upstairs as high as he can go, so as to be nearer Heaven, and shouts as loud as he can. The other day I found him at the top of the folding-steps:
 
"Dear God! You must please give us fine weather tomorrow, for we are going to the wood."
 
He says Du to everybody except God and the grocer.
 
He never compromises.
 
The servant is laying the table; we have guests coming and we call her attention to a little hole in the cloth:
 
"I must lay it so that no one can see it," she says.
 
"God will see it."
 
"He is not coming this evening," says the hussy.
 
"Yes, He is everywhere," answers my little boy, .
 
He looks afte............