Flinging back his head he thrust out a questioning finger.
"Why?" he wailed.
"That," said the Gentleman as he was carried by, "is the question which Life asks and Death answers. Good-night, Monsieur Moon-calf. Beautiful dreams."
CHAPTER LXXXVII
HIS CAUSE
Half-way up the Wish, in the hollow where yesterday Knapp had stolen upon him, the Parson laid him down.
He lay long-legged, gazing towards the hills, whence came the light.
Beneath him the flint cottage, against which he had broken his strength in vain, rose sturdily.
"A nice fight, eh, Parson?"
"I shall get no better—this side of heaven," replied the Parson simply.