“Theer’s a little bit as I’ve got stowed away for’e; an’ come the hay—”
“Doan’t talk that way. ’Tis done with now. I’m quite cool’pon it. We must go as we’m driven. No more gropin’ an’ fightin’ on this blasted wilderness for me, that’s all. I be gwaine to turn my back ’pon it—fog an’ filthy weather an’ ice an’ snow. You wants angels from heaven to help ’e, if you’re to do any gude here; an’ heaven’s long tired o’ me an’ mine. So I’ll make shift to do wi’out. An’ never tell me no more lies ’bout God helpin’ them as helps themselves, ’cause I’ve proved it ban’t so. I be gwaine to furrin’ lands to dig for gawld or di’monds. The right build o’ man for gawld-seekin’, me; ’cause I’ve larned patience an’ caan’t be choked off a job tu easy.”
“Think twice. Bad luck doan’t dog a man for ever. An’ Phoebe an’ the childer.”
“My mind’s made up. I figured it out comin’ home from Moreton. I’m away in six weeks or less. A chap what’s got to dig for a livin’ may just as well handle his tools where theer’s summat worth findin’ hid in the land, as here, on this black, damned airth, wheer your pick strikes fire out o’ stone twenty times a day. The Moor’s the Moor. Everybody knaws the way of it. Scratch its faace an’ it picks your pocket an’ breaks your heart—not as I’ve got a heart can be broken.”
“If ’e could awnly put more trust in the God of your faithers, my son. He done for them, why shouldn’t He do for you?”
“Better ax Him. Tired of the fam’ly, I reckon.”
“You hurt your mother, Will, tellin’ so wicked as that.”
“An’ faither so cruel,” sobbed Phoebe. “I doan’t knaw what ever us have done to set him an’ God against us so. I’ve tried that hard; an’ you’ve toiled till the muscles shawed through your skin; an’ the li’l bwoy took just as he beginned to string words that butivul; an’ no sign of another though’t is my endless prayer.”
“The ways of Providence—” began Mrs. Blanchard drearily; but Will stopped her, as she knew he would.
“Doan’t mother—I caan’t stand no more on that head today. I’ll dare anybody to name Providence more in my house, so long as ’tis mine. Theer’s the facts to shout out ’gainst that rot. A honest, just, plain-dealin’ man—an’ look at me.”