We took a long walk through the night, paying no attention to distance; but sharing confidences in true brotherly fashion. Then we turned about and when we came to the crossroad, in front of the schoolhouse, we clasped hands, and as he hurried, without another word, into the darkness towards his motherless home, I felt something crisp in the palm of my hand. When I returned to my room and had a light I found that he had given me a dollar bill for a thank offering.
The next morning I had my baggage on the stage, this time for a return. Bill, with his wooden leg, greeted me, for by this time we were old friends. The word of parting was given at the post-office, and the democrat rattled down the grade and over the bridge. This time a continuous flutter of handkerchiefs and aprons, and a continuous hearty shout from the men and boys, followed our passage through the two villages and then we drove into the dusk of the road through the blueberry barrens, Bill aiming expectoration at every soap sign within reach, and confiding in me, on the way, the fact that he had loved once and “lost,” which he seemed to take in a very philosophical mood, for he concluded with this phrase, “You can’t get the hang of wimmen, anyhow!”
Chapter XXVI. The Strange
Adventure of Burner into Nothing,
and How my Own Mind Got into
Trouble, and How my Faith was
Strengthened under the Chapel
Window
ON my return to the Seminary I found Burner in the throes of intellectual despair. The big fellow was sitting in his room, half buried in the depths of the green Morris chair, his bony fingers prodded into his working brows.
“What’s wrong, Burner?” I demanded.
“I’ve been thinking back too far,” announced the serious fellow.
“Thinking back too far?” I gasped.
“Yes,” he muttered. “I’ve nothing to stand on, now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve thought away all substance—now!” he moaned, in despair. “I can’t even conceive a God!”