“But it was a fearsome dream’s had holt on me the night. ’T is meself’s been palarvering with the blessed St. Peter face to face and tongue to tongue; and if I’d ought to be some used to it through having been dead once already by drowning, this time I was broke up by being dead in good earnest, by the same token that when St. Peter set his two piercing black eyes on me, I could tell by the look of ’em that it was straight through me whole body he was seeing.
“And the first thing I knew in my dream I was going all sole alone on a frightsome road all sprinkled over with ashes and bones, and I that crawly in my back I could feel the backbone of me wiggling up and down like a caterpillar, so my heart was choking in my throat with the fear of it. And I went on and I went on; and all the time it was in the head of me there was that coming behind was more fearsome than all the bones and skelingtons forninst. And I went on and I went on, seeming to be pushed along like, and not able to help meself; and all the time something was creeping, and creeping, and creeping behind, till all the blood in my body was that chilled the teeth of me chattered. And I went on and I went on till I could n’t stand it one mortal minute more; but I had to turn if the life went out of me for it. And there behind was a mite of a girl, a wee bit thing, thin and starved looking, and seeming that weak it was pitiful to see. ‘Poor thing,’ sez I to my own ghost, ‘it’s pitying her the day is Tim Calligan, if I be him,’ sez I, ‘and not some other body, for having no body perhaps I ain’t anybody at all, but just a spook in this place that ain’t nowhere.’ And all the time I was that scared of the wee bit child, being as it were where it could n’t be, and me dead before it and it dead behind me, and always following and following; so without thinking deeply what was to be done, I starts up and runs as hard as my legs that was turned into ghost shanks would let me. And I run through them ashes, stumbling on bones and seeing shadows that would get in the way and I had to run through ’em, and the weight of the horror of it words would n’t tell.
“And when I run, the wee bit child run; and it scared me worse than ever when the further I run away from it the closer it was to me, till at last it had a grab on the tail of my coat; and it clung on, and I that mad with fear I had no more sense than a hen with its head cut off and goes throwing itself round about for anger at the thought of being killed, and not knowing it is dead already. And oh, Louizy, the scaresomeness of the places I run through a-trying to get rid of that wee bit thing! It’s downright awful to think of the things that can happen to a dead man while he’s alive all the time and forgetful of it through dreaming!
“So when I’d been going on till mortal man could n’t stand it no longer, let alone a ghost, there I was just forninst the gate of Heaven, not in the least knowing how I come there or would I get in; and blessed St. Peter himself on a white stone outside the gate sitting and smiling and looking friendly so the terror went out of me like a shadow in the sun. And I scraped my foot, and I went up close to him, standing that way would I hide the child ahind of me; for sez I to meself: ‘What’ll I say to his Reverence and he axes me about the girl?’ And St. Peter he sez to me, mighty polite and condescending: ‘Good-morning,’ sez he. ‘The top of the morning to your Reverence, and thank ye kindly,’ sez I. ‘And what’ll be your name?’ sez he. ‘Tim Calligan, your honor,’ sez I, answering as pert as ever I could; for there was that in his manner of speaking that made me feel shivery, as if me heart’d been out all night in a snowstorm. ‘It’s a decent, respectable body I am, your Reverence,’ sez I, ‘though I say it as should n’t, having nobody else at hand that would put in a word for me.’ ‘And was ye buried in holy ground?’ sez he. ‘I was that,’ sez I; ‘and many’s the weary year I’ve been scraping to do that,’ sez I. ‘And what’ll that be behind ye?’ sez he. And I looked this way and that way, trying to make as if I did n’t know; and at last I pretended to spy the child, and to be that surprised he could n’t suspect I ever clapped eyes on the wee bit thing before. ‘That, your Reverence,’ sez I, ‘has the look of a scrap of a girl. Is it one your Reverence is bringing up?’ sez I, being that desperate I was as bold as a brass kettle. ‘And what’ll she be doing here?’ sez his Reverence, paying no heed to the impertinence of the question. ‘Sure, how’ll I know that?’ sez I. ‘Will she be coming with you?’ sez he. ‘Don’t she belong hereabouts?’ sez I, trying hard to brazen it out, and feeling my heart go plump down out of my mouth into my boots, more by token that I was barefoot the time. ‘Will she be coming with you?’ sez he again. ‘Sorra a bit,’ sez I; ‘I just could n’t get away from her,’ sez I. ‘And what for’ll you be trying to get away from her, and her no bigger than a bee’s knee?’ sez he, looking at me so hard that I could n’t hold up my face forninst him. ‘Well, your Reverence,’ sez I, looking down at the stones, and seeing the weeds trying to grow between them in the very face of Heaven itself, ‘it’s inconvenient traveling with a child anywhere, let alone the ondecent places I’ve been through this night; and the girl was n’t mine, and I might get blamed for keeping her out late, with her folks getting scared about her, not knowing where she was, and not understanding she was where your Holiness would be after caring for her.’ And with that St. Peter put out his hand, looking that sharp his eyes went through me like needles; and he pulled the wee bit child from behind me, and he sez to her: ‘What is the name of yer?’ ‘Nellie,’ sez she, her voice so thin you could n’t hear it, only knowing what she said from the moving of her lips like shadows on the wall. ‘And how came you here?’ sez he. ‘I was beat and starved to death,’ sez she, shivering till ’t was a mercy she did n’t go to pieces like a puff of smoke. And with that St. Peter looked at me once more, and the cold sweat run down my backbone like rain down a conductor in a thunder-storm. ‘Your Reverence,’ sez I, trembling, ‘I did n’t beat and starve the girl.’ ‘That may be,’ sez he, ‘but there’ll be some reason why she’s hanging on to your coat-tail like a burr on a dog,’ sez he. ‘What for are you following Tim Calligan,’ sez he to the girl, ‘and he dead and resting in holy ground?’ And with that she put you her little front finger, that was as thin as a sparrow’s claw that’s starved to death in winter, and she pointed to me, and sez she: ‘He would n’t give the money to send me to my folks,’ sez she; ‘and my own father saved the life of him when he was dead and drownded before I was born,’ sez she. ‘What for would n’t you give the money, Tim?’ sez St. Peter, sitting there on that white stone like a judge trying the life of a man. ‘Your Reverence,’ sez I, falling down on the stones at the feet of him, ‘twenty years was I struggling, and saving, and scraping to get the bit money for a grave in holy ground! If I’d give it to the child, I’d be down this blessed minute I’m having the honor of conversing with your Holiness—and it’s proud I am of your condescending so far!—lying in unconsecrated ground all cheek by jowl with heretics, and like as not getting my bones mixed with theirs at the blessed resurrection. Sorra a bit did I know the suffering of this poor wee bit thing.’ ‘And did her father save your life?’ sez he. ‘He did that,’ sez I, ‘and a good, decent, God-fearing man he were,’ sez I, ‘barring he were a heretic, your Reverence, owing to his not being asked, it’s likely, would he be born a good Catholic,—and I hope your Reverence ain’t been too hard on Bill Trafton if he’s come this way,’ sez I. ‘Tim,’ sez St. Peter, looking at me with a look like one of the long isuckles on the north side of the barn in January,—‘Tim, ’t is no use trying the palarver on me,’ sez he. ‘Ye know ye let this child get bound to that Betts woman, and now she’ll be bate to death, and who’s to bear the blame if not ye that might have stopped it? Do ye think, Tim Calligan,’ sez he, raising his voice so the blessed angels come a-looking over the holy walls of Heaven to see what would be the matter,—by the same token that the little gold hoops floating round their heads kept clashing together and sounding like sleigh-bells, their heads was that close together on top of the wall, and all their eyes looking at me that sorrowful like it nigh broke my heart,—‘do ye think,’ sez he, ‘you’re sleeping in holy ground when the price of the grave your worthless old carcass is in was the life of this wee bit child?’ And all the angels shook their heads, and looked at me that reproachful the heart in me got so big it would have killed me with its swelling only saving that I was dead already, not to say being dead twice; and I fell to sobbing and praying to St. Peter for mercy,—and the first thing I knew I woke up in bed, praise be to the handiworks of God! made alive again, this being the third time, counting the time I was first born.”
Tim’s tale was long, and it was interrupted by frequent intervals of rest made necessary by his weakness. When he ended, the pale forecast of dawn shone into the squalid room. Louizy was crying softly, in the suppressed fashion of folk unaccustomed to give full vent even to grief. Tim lay quiet for a long time. At last he aroused himself to feel beneath the mattress, and to bring to light a dirty bag of denim. This he pressed into the hand of his nurse.
“It’ll take you both,” he murmured feebly. “Blessings go with ye, and the saints be good to the soul of Tim Calligan, coming up at the Day of Judgment like a scared woodchuck out of unblessed ground!”
III
Tim failed rapidly. The excitement of his dream and the moral struggle through which he had passed had worn upon his enfeebled powers. On the second day after his seizure the priest came from Tiverton to administer the last rites. When this was over, Tim lay quiet, hardly seeming alive. Thus he was when Springer, who drove over late in the afternoon, came in to see him.
“Tim,” Springer said, “Mrs. Dooling has told me what you have done. The ground you lie in will make little difference to a man that would do a thing so white as that.”