When we tuk en to church, tho', there was a pretty shape.

'Name this cheeld,' says Pa'son Babbage.

'Selah,' says I, that bein' the word we'd settled.
'Selah ?' says he: 'pack o' stuff! that ain't no manner o' name.

You might so well call en Amen.' So bein' hurried in mind, what wi' the cheeld kickin', an' the water tricklin' off the pa'son's forefinger, an' the sacred natur' of the deed, I cudn' think 'pon no name but my own; an' Zeb he was christened." "Deary me," commented Uncle Issy, "that's a very life-like history.
The wonder is, the self-same fix don't happen at more christ'nin's, 'tis so very life-like." A silence followed, full of thought.

It was cut short by the rattle of wheels coming down the road, and Young Zeb's grey mare hove in sight, with Young Zeb's green cart, and Young Zeb himself standing up in it, wide-legged.