"True, Boy-lad," he answered. "But it had to be rolled away before the Lord could rise."
Ernie assented.
Hand-in-hand they sat together for some while. Then Ernie rose to go. In the silence and dusk father and son stood together on the very spot where fourteen years before they had said good-bye on Ernie's departure for the Army. The Edward Caspar of those days was old now; and the boy of that date a matured man, scarred already by the wars of Time.
"It won't be easy rolling back the stone, Boy-lad," said the old man. "But they that are for us are more than they that are against us."
It was not often that Ernie misunderstood his father; but he did now.
"Yes," he said. "And they say the Italians are coming in too."
"The whole world must come in," replied the other, his cheeks rosying faintly with an enthusiasm which made him tremble. "And we must all push together." He made a motion with his hand—"English and Germans, Russians and Austrians, and roll it back, back, back! and topple it over into the abyss. And then the Dawn will break on the risen Lord."
Ernie went out into the passage. His mother in the kitchen was waiting for him. She looked almost forlorn, he noticed.
"Give me a kiss, Ern," she pleaded in sullen voice that quavered a little. "Don't let's part un-friends just now—you and me—After all, you're my first."
Ernie's eyes filled. He took her in his arms, this withered old woman, patted her on the back, kissed her white hair, her tired eyelids.