And then, very slowly and very feebly—so slowly and so feebly that his coarse senses could hardly be sure of the scarcely whispered words—came the “Pop—will I—ever—have—pony—cart—here?�
There was but an instant’s hesitation, as the father recalled his inability to fulfil his promise, and he replied, watching his child’s face as the fluttering spirit caught the meaning:
“Yes, Robbie, if you will stay with us you shall have a pony and a cart.�
This had been the height of the child’s desire, his highest idea of happiness, his heaven—to have a pony and a cart. In sight of the other shore, and with voices, perhaps, which his father’s coarse ear could not hear, calling him thither, he was willing to stay on this side if his desire might be gratified.
The father thought he saw the slightest trace of a smile on the thin face. The boy slept. More than once there were brief intervals when the father could not detect his son’s breathing, but as the hours wore away there seemed to be a gain.
Meanwhile the father’s memory was busy. As a lightning-flash, in the night, for an instant illuminates the entire landscape, so his son’s question flashed his whole life in review before him. He recalled the day, when, with high ideals, he had pledged himself to Christ in the little country meeting-house, and the church had pledged friendship to him. Later some of these comrades in the church had defrauded him of all he possessed. To-day the worst enemies of himself and of every other workingman in the town of Papyrus, were pillars in the fashionable church of that place. These things stood out in bold relief to-night, as bold as the mountain’s rugged outline when the lightning’s flash illumines it.
“The First Church of Papyrus,� Wycliff had once said to Deacon Surface, “does not stand for righteousness. It will whitewash any wrong done by its wealthy members. Our pastor is eloquent in condemning the disfranchisement of the negroes of the South, but does not say one word to condemn the disfranchisement of mill-hands in Papyrus. Employees in the Baldwin Mills are prevented from voting appropriations for schools, roads, street-lights, and other public benefits in their own town. To be consistent, you should place the sign of the Almighty Dollar on the pinnacle of your beautiful church, and inscribe over the altar these words: ‘The rich can do no wrong.’�
Deacon Surface, who belonged, body and soul to the Baldwins, had been horrified at Wycliff, whom he regarded as little better than an infidel. Wycliff regarded Deacon Surface and his kind, as followers of the Master only for the ‘loaves and fishes.’
But the night wore away. The boy was better. The mother was worn out, and Wycliff remained at home to care for his wife and child.
Jacob Sharp was an early caller.