Colley shook his head.
"Again I say, Let God's will be done. I wish—I wish I had a memory for a text of Scripture to say before I bury this child; for we must bury him, and now. You've been at school, you say, up to the time you ran away. Can't you say the words of Scripture which you have learned? You must know a lot."
Poor Jack rubbed his head and tried to collect his thoughts, but in vain.
"It's what the Lord said to Mary when her brother Lazarus died. Ah, I've got it now!"
and Colley slowly and solemnly repeated, "I am the Resurrection and the Life; he that liveth and believeth on Me shall never die."
Then the old sailor clasped his weather-beaten hands over the child's lifeless form, and with tears running down his rugged cheeks he said: "O heavenly Father, Thou hast called this child from pain and suffering. In Thy mercy send for me next; but let poor Jack live to go back to his mother. For Christ Jesus' sake."
Then tenderly and gently the little form slipped over the side of the boat; there was a sudden splash, a rippling sound, and all was still—so still, except for the mysterious murmur which always sounds like whispers from another world at nightfall on the sea.
Again the sun rose, and again the silent sea was flooded with the rays of the sun. The inhabitants of the little boat were too weak now to speak much. Even Toby could scarcely wag his tail, but lay with his head on his paws, gazing up to his master's face, questioning as to what it meant—this faintness and weakness which seemed to be creeping over him.
The dead gull lay untouched. There was not strength left to eat it, even if there had been inclination.
Jack still grasped the oar, and still the poor blue jersey fluttered in the breeze. But Colley lay at the bottom of the boat, breathing heavily, though his eyes were open, and his rough weather-beaten hands folded as if in prayer.