The Reverend Mr.Arbroath started indignantly, and stared so hard that his rat-brown eyes visibly projected from his head.
"Not very good Christianity!" he echoed.

"What--what do you mean?
How dare you speak to me about Christianity!" "Ay, 'tis a bit aff!" drawled "Feathery" Joltram, thrusting his great hands deep into his capacious trouser-pockets.

"'Tis a bit aff to taalk to Christian parzon 'bout Christianity, zeein' 'tis the one thing i' this warld 'e knaws nawt on!" Arbroath grew livid, but his inward rage held him speechless.
"That's true!" cried Tom o' the Gleam excitedly--"That's as true as there's a God in heaven! I've read all about the Man that was born a carpenter in Galilee, and so far as I can understand it, He never had a rough word for the worst creatures that crawled, and the worse they were, and the more despised and down-trodden, the gentler He was with them.

That's not the way of the men that call themselves His ministers!" "I 'eerd once," said Mr.Dubble, rising slowly and laying down his pipe, "of a little chap what was makin' a posy for 'is mother's birthday, an' passin' the garden o' the rector o' the parish, 'e spied a bunch o' pink chestnut bloom 'angin' careless over the 'edge, ready to blow to bits wi' the next puff o' wind.

The little raskill pulled it down an' put it wi' the rest o' the flowers 'e'd got for 'is mother, but the good an' lovin' rector seed 'im at it, an' 'ad 'im nabbed as a common thief an' sent to prison.