“It was like a dream, and it stayed with me. I had to think in the desert things I’d never thought before,” was the half-abstracted answer.
“You felt good in the desert?” The other hung his head in shame.
“Makes you seem pretty small, doesn’t it? You didn’t stay long enough, I guess, to get what you were feeling for; you started in on the new racket too soon. You never got really possessed that you was a sinner. I expect that’s it.”
The other made no reply.
“Well, I don’t know much about such things. I was loose brought up; but I’ve a friend”—Laura was before his eyes—“that says religion’s all right, and long ago as I can remember my mother used to pray three times a day—with grace at meals, too. I know there’s a lot in it for them that need it; and there seems to be a lot of folks needing it, if I’m to judge by folks down there at Jansen, specially when there’s the laying-on of hands and the Healing Springs. Oh, that was a pigsty game, Scranton, that about God giving you the Healing Springs, like Moses and the rock! Why, I discovered them springs myself two years ago, before I went South, and I guess God wasn’t helping me any—not after I’ve kept out of His way as I have. But, anyhow, religion’s real; that’s my sense of it; and you can get it, I bet, if you try. I’ve seen it got. A friend of mine got it—got it under your preaching; not from you; but you was the accident that brought it about, I expect. It’s funny—it’s merakilous, but it’s so. Kneel down!” he added, with peremptory suddenness. “Kneel, Scranton!”
In fear the other knelt.
“You’re going to get religion now—here. You’re going to pray for what you didn’t get—and almost got—in the desert. You’re going to ask forgiveness for all your damn tricks, and pray like a fanning-mill for the spirit to come down. You ain’t a scoundrel at heart—a friend of mine says so. You’re a weak vessel, cracked, perhaps. You’ve got to be saved, and start right over again—and ‘Praise God from whom all blessings flow!’ Pray—pray, Scranton, and tell the whole truth, and get it—get religion. Pray like blazes. You go on, and pray out loud. Remember the desert, and Mary Jewell, and your mother—did you have a mother, Scranton—say, did you have a mother, lad?”
Tim’s voice suddenly lowered before the last word, for the Faith Healer had broken down in a torrent of tears.
“Oh, my mother—O God!” he groaned.
“Say, that’s right—that’s right—go on,” said the other, and drew back a little, and sat down on a log. The man on his knees was convulsed with misery. Denton, the world, disappeared. He prayed in agony. Presently Tim moved uneasily, then got up and walked about; and at last, with a strange, awed look, when an hour was past, he stole back into the shadow of the trees, while still the wounded soul poured out its misery and repentance.