Part 4 (2/2)

”Beef!” sighed Jacky, the last thing before falling asleep. ”Think o'

that, Timmie!”

”An' jam!” said Timmie.

They gave me a nudge to waken me. ”Thanks, Davy,” said they both.

Then I fell asleep.

Our folk slept a great deal at the Lodge. They seemed to want to have the winter pa.s.s without knowing more than they could help of the various pangs of it--like the bears. But, when the weather permitted them to stir without, they trapped for fox and lynx, and hunted (to small purpose) with antiquated guns, and cut wood, if they were in the humour; and whatever necessity compelled them to do, and whatever they had to eat (since there was at least enough of it), they managed to have a rollicking time of it, as you would not suppose, without being told. The tilts were built of slim logs, caulked with moss; and there was but one room--and that a bare one--with bunks at one end for the women and a c.o.c.k-loft above for the men. The stove was kept at red heat, day and night, but, notwithstanding, there was half an inch of frost on the walls and great icicles under the bunks: extremes of temperature were thus to be found within a very narrow compa.s.s. In the evening, when we were all gathered close about the stove, we pa.s.sed the jolliest hours; for it was then that the folk came in, and tales were told, and (what was even more to our taste) the ”spurts at religion” occurred.

When the argument concerned the pains of h.e.l.l, Mary, Tom Tot's daughter, who was already bound out to service to the new manager of the store at Wayfarer's Tickle (expected by the first mail-boat), would slip softly in to listen.

”What you thinkin' about?” I whispered, once.

She sat remote from the company, biting her finger nails, staring, meanwhile, from speaker to speaker, with eyes that were pitifully eager.

”h.e.l.l,” she answered.

I was taken aback by that. ”h.e.l.l, Mary?” I exclaimed.

”Ay, Davy,” she said, with a shudder, ”I'm thinkin' about h.e.l.l.”

”What for?” said I. ”Sure, 'twill do you no good to think about h.e.l.l.”

”I got to,” said she. ”I'm goin' there!”

Skipper Tommy explained, when the folk had gone, that Mary, being once in a south port of our coast, had chanced to hear a travelling parson preach a sermon. ”An',” said he, ”'tis too bad that young man preached about d.a.m.nation, for 'tis the only sermon she ever heared, an' she isn't seemin' t' get over it.” After that I tried to persuade Mary that she would not go to h.e.l.l, but quite dismally failed--and not only failed, but was soon thinking that I, too, was bound that way. When I expressed this fear, Mary took a great fancy to me, and set me to getting from Skipper Tommy a description of the particular tortures, as he conceived they were to be inflicted; for, said she, he was a holy man, and could tell what she so much wished to know. Skipper Tommy took me on his knee, and spoke long and tenderly to me, so that I have never since feared death or h.e.l.l; but his words, being repeated, had no effect upon Mary, who continued still to believe that the unhappy fate awaited her, because of some sin she was predestined to commit, or, if not that, because of her weight of original sin.

”Oh, Davy, I got t' go!” she moaned, tearing one of her nails to the quick.

”No, no!” I cried. ”The Lard 'll never be so mean t' you.”

”You don't know Him,” she said, mysteriously. ”You don't know what He's up to.”

”Bother Him!” I exclaimed, angered that mortals should thus be made miserable by interference. ”I wisht He'd leave us be!”

”Hus.h.!.+” she said, horrified.

”What's He gone an' done, now?” I demanded.

”He've not elected me,” she whispered, solemnly. ”He've left _me_ with the goats.”

And so, happily, I acc.u.mulated another grudge against this misconception of the dear Lord, which Skipper Tommy's sweet philosophy and the jolly companions.h.i.+p of the twins could not eliminate for many days. But eventually the fresh air and laughter and tenderness restored my complacency. I forgot all about h.e.l.l; 'twas more interesting to don my racquets and make the round of the fox traps with the twins, or to play pranks on the neighbours, or to fas.h.i.+on curious masques and go mummering from tilt to tilt. In the end, I emerged from the unfortunate mood with one firm conviction, founded largely, I fear, upon a picture which hung by my bed at home: that portraying a rising from the dead, the grave below, a golden, cloudy heaven above, wherefrom a winged angel had descended to take the hand of the free, enraptured soul. And my conviction was this, that, come what might to the souls of the wicked, the souls of the good were upon death robed in white and borne aloft to some great bliss, yet lingered, by the way, to throw back a tender glance.

I had never seen death come.

<script>