Dan dropped the big hammer in sheer astonishment, and if Father Thomas had not made a rapid retreat, more than his eyes and ears would have told him so.
“Me happier nor our Filomena! Me! Father, dunnot be angered wi’ me, but either you’re downright silly, or you’re somewhat more nor other folks.”
“I have told thee the truth, my son. Now, wilt thou do somewhat to help thy wife to be happy? If she is happy, she will be humble and meek—happy, that is, in the way I mean.”
“I’ll do aught as ’ll make our Filomena meek,” replied Dan, with a shake of his grizzled head: “but how that’s going to be shaped beats me, I can tell you. Mun I climb up to th’ sky and stick nails into th’ moon?”
“Nay,” said the priest with a smile. “Thou shalt pray God to make her as a little child.”
“That’s a corker, that is!” Dan picked up the hammer, and began meditatively to fashion a nail. “Our Ank’ret were a babby once,” said he, as if to himself. “She were a bonnie un, too. She were, so! I used to sit o’ th’ bench at th’ door of an even, wi’ her on my knee, a-smilin’ up like—eh, Father, but I’ll tell you what, if them times could come back, it ’d be enough to make a chap think he’d getten into Heaven by mistake.”
“I trust, my son, thou wilt some day find thee in Heaven, not by mistake,” said the priest. “But if so, Daniel, thou must have a care to go the right road thither.”
“Which road’s that, Father?”
“It is a straight road, my son, and it is a narrow road. And the door to it goes right through the cross whereon Jesus Christ died for thee and me. Daniel, dost thou love the Lord Jesus?”
“Well, you see, Father, I’m not much acquaint wi’ Him. He’s a great way up, and I’m down here i’ t’ smithy.”