A country clergyman, meeting a neighbour, who never came to church, although an old fellow above sixty, reproved him on that account, and asked if he ever read at home? "No," replied the man, "I can't read." "I dare say," said the clergyman, "you don't know who made you." "Not I, in troth," said the countryman. A little boy coming by at the time, "Who made you, child?" said the parson. "God, sir," answered the boy. "Why, look you there," quoth the honest parson. "Are you not ashamed to hear a child of five or six years old tell me who made him, when you, that are so old a man, cannot?" "Ah!" said the countryman. "It is no wonder that he should remember; he was made but t'other day, it is a great while, master, sin' I was made."