"None here" murmured the Parson. "There there's plenty for all."
Nelson lifted a blurred face.
"You think that?"
"I'm sure of it," sturdily. "And I know all about that sort of thing now, you know. I'm a parson."
Nelson held the other off.
"Are you a parson?"
"Yes, sir," a thought defiantly. "And why not?"
His heat brought no twinkle to the other's one wet eye.
The nightmare was passing: Nelson was drifting away into dreams.
"My father's a parson," he mused, as one talking to himself. "If I hadn't gone to sea at twelve, I think I should have been. Nelson and religion!—it sounds strange. Yet I always wished to give all to God."