Tom was nonplussed. "Well, I suppose, things about your soul."
"What'd a clergyman know about my soul? He might know about his own, but I know all about mine that I've got to know. 'Tain't much—but it's enough."
Tom was relieved. He didn't want to disturb Honey by bringing in a stranger nor was he more sure than Honey that any good could be done by it. He was more relieved still when Honey explained himself further.
"Do yer suppose I've come to where I am now without thinkin' them things out, when Gord give me a genius for doin' it? I don't say I've did it as well as them as has had more eddication; but Gord takes us with the eddication what we've got. Eddication's a fine thing; I don't say contrairy; but I don't believe as it makes no diff'rence to Gord. If you and me was before Him—me not knowin' 'ardly nothink, and you stuffed as you are with learnin' till you're bustin' out with it—I don't believe as Gord'd say as there was a pinch o' snuff between us—not to him there wouldn't be." A little wearily he made his confession of faith. "Gord made me; Gord knows me; Gord'll take me just the way I am and make the best o' me, without no one else buttin' in."
It was the middle of an afternoon. If anything, Honey was better. All spring was blowing in at the windows, while the trees were in April green, and the birds jubilant with the ecstasy of mating.
"Beats everythink the way I dream," Honey confided, in a puzzled tone. "Always dreamin' o' my mother. Haven't 'ardly thought of her these years and years. Didn't 'ardly know her. Died when I was a little kid; and yet...."
He lay still, smiling into the air. Tom was glad to find him cheerful, reminiscent. Never in all the years he had known him had Honey talked so much of his early life as within the last few days.
"Used to take us children into the country to see a sister she had livin' there.... Little village in Cheshire called King's Clavering.... See that little cottage now.... Thatched it was.... Set a few yards back from the lane.... Had flowers in the garden ... musk ... and poppies ... and London pride ... and Canterbury bells ... and old man's love ... and cherry pie ... and raggedy Jack ... and sailor's sweetheart ... funny how all them names comes back to me...."
Again he lay smiling. Tom also smiled. It was the first day he had had any hope. It was difficult not to have hope when Honey was so free from pain, and so easy in his mind. As to pain he had not had much since the accident had benumbed him; but there had always been something he seemed to want to say. To-day he had apparently said everything, and so could spend the half-hour of Tom's visit on memories of no importance.