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Bobby looked sorely perplexed. 'Lady Is'bel teached it to me out of the Talian Bible. "Blessed are they that wash their robes in the blood of the Lamb, that they may have right to the tree of life, and may enter in frough the gates into the City." That's my tex', I know it is. Mrs. Allonby smiled at his disconsolate face. 'It is another version, Bobby. 'But isn't it true? he questioned.
"Nothin' could n' been no wo'se 'n what I went frough. Kep' 'long d' ribbah, laike yo' said, but could n' git nothin' t' eat only berries growin' in d' woods. Got mighty weak, 'n' den las' night met d' Injuns." "Last night!" I cried. "Where, Polete?" "Obah dah 'long d' ribbah," he answered faintly.
She's de on'y one what's got anythin' to gib, an' she wouldn't hab dat on'y frough de war her money was in de bank in Baltimo'. I know, 'cause I went dar once to git some for her. De Yankee soldiers searched me; but some possums got two holes." "And did she send him the Madeira too?" "No, sah; Mister Grocerman gib him dat."
When they are washed clean it is just like a white covering over them, a white dress; and God looks down upon them, and says "that person can come inside the gates, because I see a clean white robe over him." 'I see! said Bobby, with quick comprehension. 'My heart has to have a white robe inside me, not outside; and the angel at the gate looks right frough me and sees it. 'That is it, Bobby.
No fince; jes' de big trees whut de owls an' de rain-doves sot in an' mourn an' sob, an' whut de wind sigh an' cry frough. An byme-by somefin' jes' brush' li'l' Mose on de arm, which mek' him run jes a bit more faster. An' byme-by somefin' jes brush' li'l' Mose on de cheek, which mek' him run erbout as fast as he can.
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