"There was nothing else to take to," said Mr. Shafto, in a slow, dreamy manner, as if he forgot he was speaking to Sandy; "I had the hatchment on hand, and every one told me I had such a solemn manner at a funeral. But the city grave-yards were closed immediately after, and now the family vaults even are not opened. Nothing has come of it. But boy," he continued, in a voice less languid, "I don't consider you a fit companion for my son; and I can't allow it. You must not get into the habit of coming here every night, as if it was your home."
Mr. Shafto had come to this conclusion during the day, and had resolved to put a stop to the thing. A boy picked up out of the scum of the street to be the chosen friend of Johnny Shafto! That could not be. Sandy listened in dismay, but he had no idea of rebelling against Mr. Shafto's orders. He knew himself to be quite unfit for such a place, and such friends; and he was not in the least surprised to hear that he must not think of it as his home. There were disappointment and regret in his heart, but no bitterness, as he heard Mr. Shafto's speech. But here was a chance of asking a question or two that had puzzled him during the day, whenever he thought of what John and his mother had tried to teach him. He drew a little nearer to Mr. Shafto, and spoke in a low, mysterious voice.
"You don't b'lieve the same as them others?" he said, pointing over his shoulder to the house.
"Believe what?" asked Mr. Shafto.
"As He's everywhere, hearkenin' to us, and watchin' of us," whispered Sandy: "God, you know? I didn't think as it were true, only Mr. Johnny were so sure of it."
"Of course it's true," answered Mr. Shafto; "I believe it as surely as my son does."
"I didn't think as you did," pursued Sandy. "If I b'lieved of it, it 'ud make a difference to me, it would. I couldn't go on doin' as I'm used to do. I don't see how folks can b'lieve in it; they goes on doin' jest the same as if it weren't true. Does God know as you don't like me to have a bite of bread, and sleepin' on your floor?"
Mr. Shafto was not ready with an answer. He looked at his grandfather's tablet, and from that to Sandy's brown, weather-beaten face, alive with earnest feeling; but neither of them helped him to any words.
"You don't think, do you," went on Sandy, "as Lord Jesus Christ 'ud do all they say He'll do for a poor boy in the streets, without shoes to his feet or a cap to his head? Or as He'll look for a ragged little gel like Gip, and take care on her for me? Oh! no. You don't b'lieve that; and maybe it's not true. You know lots more than they do; I heard Mr. Johnny's mother say so."
Still Mr. Shafto was tongue-tied.