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arrived, telephones would soon be in every home. He knew that the heathen on other continents would likely come to God, but perhaps not in his lifetime. Revelation 20 said there would be one thousand years of peace under Jesus’ rule, and there was too much heathenism going on for it to happen any day soon. Somebody would have to get roads and telephones into all the jungles and mountain areas in the world before that could happen. He himself couldn’t travel to Africa because of his business and family, but he could help raise brave and honest young Christian gentlemen who might. “Can somebody tell me,” he said, “what ‘dominion’ means?”
    Nobody answered.
    “It means man rules over them, over the animals. Does anybody have a pet?”
    Floyd Hall raised his hand. “I do.”
    “Thank goodness somebody can answer a question. What kind of pet, Floyd?”
    “A dog.” Floyd’s paunch had worked his white shirt out on one side, and his hair had grease only in front.
    “So who tells your dog what to do?”
    “His name is Scout.”
    Mr. Harris raised his eyebrows. “Who tells him what to do?”
    “My daddy.”
    “That’s right. And your daddy is a man, and God made man to have rulership over all the animals. That’s why we can go to Africa and shoot lions and tigers.”
    “My uncle shot a cat,” said Henry.
    “Yes, and cats too,” said Mr. Harris.
    “But if a man was in the jungle,” said Nicky Noland, “and he didn’t have no gun or anything, then a lion could gulp his fat ass right down.” He laughed and looked around, several boys smiled a little, one laughed, Henry was startled, and then they all, except for Nicky, turned to look at Mr. Harris. Nicky was still looking at the other boys.
    Mr. Harris stood from the table, stepped back, reddened, and frowned. “You may sit in the chair just outside the door, young man. We don’t use that kind of language in this room — or any room in this building.”
    Nicky caught on. His eyebrows raised and the corners of his mouth dropped, but he didn’t speak.
    Aunt Dorie had told Henry to stay away from Nicky Noland and his brothers. Somebody brought them to church on the two Sundays of the annual attendance contests with Zion Baptist.
    “I’m going home, mister,” said Nicky. “I ain’t sitting in nobody’s fat-ass chair. I never wanted to come in here in the first place.” The door slammed behind him.
    “Well, that is one way, boys, you do not want to be.” Mr. Harris paced. “You do not want to be disobedient and ugly. Now, listen to me.” Mr. Harris was upset, and thus he had the full attention of the boys. “God made man smart enough to make a gun that can kill a lion,” he said, “but lions can’t make guns to kill men. So you see that God made men smarter than lions or any other animals. That is as clear as the nose on your face.” He walked to the door, opened it, looked out, and then came back to his table, where he half sat again. He loosened the top button to his collar. The collar point dropped some. “After God made man and woman he saw that everything was very good. That was the evening of the sixth day when he finished all this, and then on the seventh day he rested because he was tired, and so this day became a very special day. It became the Sabbath, or Sunday, the day we go to church on, and worship and rest.”
    Henry pictured God being tired. And then, as if it were a big black tadpole swimming up from the depths of a mudhole, a question surfaced. He raised his hand.
    “Yes, Henry. Good.”
    “How could somebody who is perfect get tired?”
    “Oh. Well, Henry.” Mr. Harris smiled. “That seems like a good question . . . at first, but let’s think about it for just a minute.” He frowned. “We have to be very careful about what we ask questions about. Because we can commit blasphemy, and blasphemy is a sin. That’s just the way it is.” Mr. Harris stood up from the little table again. “We don’t want to get