“Call me not excellent,” said the old man, smiting his breast.
“I do, and shall, sir, while I see in you an excellent repentance, an excellent humility, and an excellent justice,” said Jack. “But oh, sir, look upon these forty souls, whom we must leave behind, like sheep which have no shepherd. Could you not teach them to fear God and to love each other, to live like rational men, perhaps to die like Christians? They would obey you as a dog obeys his master. You might be their king, their father, yea, their pope, if you would.”
“You do not speak like a Lutheran.”
“I am not a Lutheran, but an Englishman: but, Protestant as I am, God knows, I had sooner see these poor souls of your creed, than of none.”
“But I am no priest.”
“When they are ready,” said Jack, “the Lord will send a priest. If you begin the good work, you may trust to Him to finish it.”
“God help me!” said the old warrior.
The talk lasted long into the night, but Amyas was up long before daybreak, felling the trees; and as he and Cary walked back to breakfast, the first thing which they saw was the old man in his garden with four or five Indian children round him, talking smilingly to them.
“The old man's heart is sound still,” said Will. “No man is lost who still is fond of little children.”
“Ah, senors!” said the hermit as they came up, “you see that I have begun already to act upon your advice.”