“Amalia––Amalia––How about sin, and the one who––kills––and the ones who hate––and the little children brought into the world in sin––” Harry’s voice trembled, and he bowed his head in his hands.
“Never is anything lost. They are the ones who have not yet learned––they have not found the key to God’s music. Those who find must quickly help and give and teach the little children––the little children find so easily the key––but to all the strings making horrible discord on the earth––we dare not shut our ears and hide––so do the sweet, good sisters in the convent. They do their little to 275 teach the little children, but it is always to shut their ears. But the Christ went out in the world, not with hands over his ears, but outreached to his brothers and sisters on the earth. But my father––my father! He turned away from the church, because he saw they had not found the true key to God’s music––or I mean they kept it always hid, and covered with much––how shall I say––with much drapery––and golden coverings, that the truth––that is the key––was lost to sight. It was for this my father quarreled with––all that he thought not the truth. He believed to set his people free both from the world’s oppression and from their own ignorance, and give to them a truth uncovered. Oh, it set his old friends in great discord more than ever––for they could not make thus God’s music. And so they rose up and threw him in prison, and all the terrible things came upon him––of the world. My mother must have been very able through love to drag him free from them, even if they did pursue. It was the conflict of discord he felt all his life, and now he is free.”
Suddenly the mother’s deep tones sounded through the cabin with a finality that made them both start. “Yes. Now he is free––and yet will he bring them to––know. We wait for him here. No more must he go to Poland. It is not the will of God.”
Still Harry was not satisfied. “But if you think all these great thoughts––and you do––I can’t see how you can quote those legends as if you thought them true.”
“I quote them, yes, because I love them, and their poetry. Through all beauty––all sweetness––all strength––God brings to us his thought. This I believe. I believe the saints lived and were holy and good, loving the great 276 brotherhood. Why may not they be given the work of love still to do? It is all in the music of God, that they live, and make happy, and why should I believe that it is now taken from them to do good? Much that I think lies deep in my heart, and I cannot tell it in words.”
“Nor can I. But my thoughts––” For an instant Amalia, looking at him, saw in his face the same look of inward fear––or rather of despair that had appalled Larry, but it went as quickly as it appeared, and she wondered afterward if she had really seen it, or if it was a strange trick of the firelight in the windowless cabin.
“And your thoughts, Mr. ’Arry?”
“They are not to be told.” Again he rose to go, and stood and looked down on her, smiling. “I see you have already tried the crutches.”
“Yes. I found them in the snow, before the door. How I got there? I did hop. It was as if the good angels had come in the night. I wake and something make me all glad––and I go to the door to look at the whiteness, and then I am sorry, because of Sir Kildene, then I see before me––while that I stand on one foot, and hop––hop––hop––so, I see the crutch lie in the snow. Oh, Mr. ’Arry, now so pale you are! It is that you have worked in the night to make them––Is not? That is sorrowful to me. But now will I do for you pleasant things, because I can move to do them on these, where before I must always sit still––still––Ah, how that is hard to do! One good thing comes to me of this hurt. It makes the old shoes to last longer. How is it never to wear out shoes? Never to walk in them.”
Harry laughed. “We’ll have to make you some moccasins.”