Judith started and looked around.
“When?” she breathed.
“He said if what I told him about ‘a very present help’ was true he’d come back; and ’tis true. Was he”—turning to Mother Graham—“was he your little boy?”
“I hope so—I believe so.”
“If he was your little boy you’d know about the big wave that swept him out.”
“I don’t think that he could have been my boy”—a shade of disappointment had crossed the elder woman’s sweet, patient face—“for I never knew of his being swept away by a wave.”
“Oh, it wasn’t that kind of sea”—motioning to the water behind him—“it was a sea called sin and he said the wave had carried him ’way, ’way out. He knew about ’most every kind of sea. But I told him my mamma said it didn’t matter a bit what the sea was called, Love could walk over it.”
Judith had covered her eyes with her hand. Gerald touched her cheek with one finger.
“Are you out on the sorry—sor-row”—correcting himself carefully—“are you out on that sea?”
“God knows I am!”