“No,” was the gruff answer. “That’s your business, Padre. The Lord don’t expect no praying from rough old salts like me.”
“Sure and He does,—He does,” said Brother Bart, roused into simple earnestness. “What is high or low to Him? Isn’t He the Lord and Maker of the land and sea? Doesn’t He give ye life and breath and strength and health and all that ye have? And to stand up like a dumb brute under His eye and never give Him a word of praise or thanks! I wonder at ye, Jeroboam,—I do indeed! Sure ye’d be more dacent to any mortal man that gave ye a bit and sup; but what ye’re not taught, poor man, ye can’t know. Listen now: ye’re to take us to church to-morrow according to your bargain.”
“Yes,” said the Captain, gruffly; “but thar warn’t no bargain about preaching and praying and singing.”
“Sure I don’t ask it,” said Brother Bart, sadly. “You’re in haythen darkness, Jeroboam, and I haven’t the wisdom or the knowledge or the holiness to lade ye out; but there’s one prayer can be said in darkness as well as in light. All I ask ye to do is to stand for a moment within the church and turn your eyes to the lamp that swings like a beacon light before the altar and whisper the words of that honest man in the Bible that didn’t dare to go beyant the holy door, ‘O God, be merciful to me a sinner!’ Will ye do that?”
“Wal, since that’s all ye ask of me, Padre,” said Captain Jeb, reflectively, “I can’t say no. I’ve thought them words many a time when the winds was a-howling and the seas a-raging, and it looked as if I was bound for Davy Jones’ Locker before day; but I never knew that was a fair-weather prayer. But I’ll say it as you ask; and I’ll avow, Padre, that, for talking and praying straight to the point, you beat any preacher or parson I ever heard yet.”
“Preach, is it!” exclaimed Brother Bart. “Sure I never preached in my life, and never will. But I’ll hold ye to your word, Jeroboam; and, with God’s blessing, we’ll be off betimes to-morrow morning.—Here come the boys: and, Holy Mother, look at the boatful of clawing craythurs they have with them!”
“Lobsters, Brother Bart!” shouted Freddy, triumphantly. “Lobsters, Captain Jeb! Fine big fellows. I’m hungry as three bears.”
XIII.—At Beach Cliff.
Brother Bart and his boys were up betimes for their Sunday journey. Breakfast was soon dispatched, and four sunburned youngsters were ready for their trip to town. Dud and Jim, who had been lounging around Killykinick in sweaters and middies, were spruced up into young gentlemen again. Freddy’s rosy cheeks were set off by a natty little sailor suit and cap; while Dan scarcely recognized himself in one of the rigs presented by Brother Francis, that bore the stamp of a stylish tailor, and that had been sponged and pressed and mended by the kind old wardrobian until it was quite as good as new.
The day was bright and beautiful, sky and sea seemed smiling on each other most amicably. The “Sary Ann” was in the best of spirits, and the wind in the friendliest of moods.