“Well, I’ll stop,” he said, with a short laugh; “the cocoa may do me good, even though the meetin’ don’t.”
“Now you’re becoming soft and unmanly—a regular old wife,” whispered the demon, who had watched him anxiously throughout the whole morning.
“The boat’s alongside, father,” Billy called out, at that moment down the open skylight.
“That’s right,” replied the father in a strong hearty voice. “You go aboard wi’ the rest, my boy, an’ come back in the arternoon when you see ’em hoist the mission-flag. I’m goin’ to stop aboard, an we’ll all attend the meetin’ together. An’ look you, Billy, fetch my Noo Testament with ’ee—the one your mother gave me.”
“Praise the Lord for these words!” said the mission skipper.
He did not say it very loud, for he was not by nature a demonstrative man; neither did he whisper it, for he was not ashamed to thank his God for mercies received.
At the same moment the demon fled away for that time—according to the true word, “Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.”
David Bright did not talk much that afternoon. His injured hand gave him considerable pain, but it was not that which silenced him. Thoughts too deep for utterance were passing through his brain. It was the turning-point of his life; and, while his mind was busy with the great issues that must be faced sooner or later by all mankind, he listened with mingled surprise, hope, fear, and pleasure, to the free and hearty converse of the godly crew of the gospel-ship, as they discoursed pleasantly, now of the homes in Yarmouth or Gorleston, now of the home above; or sang, with stentorian voices, some of the lively hymns that are happily current in the present day, or prayed in the ungrammatical language, and with the intense fervour, of untutored but thoroughly earnest men.
They thought that David was suffering from his injury, and wisely let him alone, though they occasionally gave him a cheering word, and frequently plied him with hot cocoa, which he preferred much, he said, to coffee.
This may seem to some a rather incongruous way of presenting religious and secular things. It may be so, but we are not careful to preserve congruity, or to dilute our dish to please the palate of the fastidious. This world is full of incongruities, and we are endeavouring to present that portion of it now under consideration as it actually is at the present time.