DOLLS BAPTIZED

WHEN we were small children, there had been a series of meetings held at the school house, and several people were converted. The next thing in order was to baptize the candidates, which was duly accomplished in one of the few places where enough water was found for this purpose. (High Prairie was and still is — a very dry stretch of land.)

We children were highly impressed with the solemnity of the occasion. And I was especially interested in one neighbor lady, whose flow of emotion caused her to cry, when her daughter was baptized.

We small Tates talked much about the baptizing, discussing it in all its details.

One day, we were playing by the Big Spring. Of course, my arms were full of dolls. Rev had an inspiration.

"Need," he said to me, "let me baptize your dolls. It wont hurt 'em."

I cuddled my dolls to me, reluctant to let them go to Rev, and fearful lest some harm befall them.

At last Revvie prevailed. It did seem as if it might be fun. But when my brother took the dolls from my arms, I regretted consenting to the plan. Tears filled my eyes. (I always cried easily.)

So when Revvie really plunged my treasured dollies under the water, I broke into wild tears and frenzied sobbing.

But I did feel a little ashamed of crying and being such a baby. So when Revvie laughed at me for crying, I said,

"Well, didn't Mrs. Pitman cry when her girl was baptized?"