“You may be both wrong, Ned,” gently suggested John.
“Come, Rose!” said Underhill, cooling as suddenly as he had heated, and holding out his hand. “We are but a pair of fools to quarrel. I forgive you.”
“I knew not that I quarrelled with you, friend,” said Mr Rose, with his quiet smile; “and I have nothing to forgive.”
But he put his hand in Underhill’s readily enough.
“You are a better Christian than I, methinks,” muttered Underhill, somewhat ashamed. “But you know what a hot fellow I am.”
“We will both essay to be as good Christians as we can,” quietly answered Mr Rose; “and that is, as like Christ as we can. Methinks He scantly gave hot words to Peter, whether the Emperor Tiberius Caesar should have reigned or no.”
“Ah!” said John, gravely, “he that should think first how Christ should answer, should rarely indeed be found in hot words, and in evil, never.”
“Well,” replied Mr Underhill, “I am of complexion somewhat like Peter. I could strike off the ear of Malchus an’ I caught him laying hands on my Master (yea, I know not if I should stay at the ear); and it had been much had I kept that sword off the High Priest himself. Ay, though I had been hanged the hour after.”
“The cause seemeth to lack such men at times,” said John, thoughtfully, “and then the Lord raiseth them up. But we should not forget, Ned, that ‘they which take the sword shall perish with the sword.’”
“Well!” cried Underhill, “I care not if I do perish with the sword, if I may first mow down a score or twain of the enemies of the Gospel.”