“Well, keep up your Catechism, but for Heaven’s sake get old Fraser, I mean Mr. Fraser—he’s your parson, isn’t he?—to explain things to you.”
“Oh, Daddy explains them to me every Sunday. He makes me say the Catechism over every Sunday, and then I read him my lessons. You know, the lessons Mother used to teach me from the Bible. Except when Sleeman comes—then we sometimes forget.”
“One thing, young fellow, don’t let your—ah—what do you call her?—the Indian woman, I mean——”
“Onawata.”
“Don’t let Onawata—a pretty name—get any such bloodthirsty notions in her head, or she may murder the beast some day. Then they’d hang her, b’Jove. Now I’m coming round to see your father soon. I have been rather busy, but I must come soon. Now let us ride down. Don’t fret, and if you want help any time ride over for me.”
It was not till the following Sunday that the Colonel was able to fulfil his promise, and it being the Sunday for the Anglican service, which came once in the month, it was late in the afternoon when he rode up to Pine Croft and gave his horse into the care of Indian Louis. Through the open door of the living room came Gaspard’s voice, booming loudly.
“That’s good for your soul, Sleeman, you ungodly heathen. Say it again, Paul. It will do him good, if he has the brains to take it in. Go on, boy. ‘What is the misery of that estate whereinto man fell?’”
High, clear, and with an unmistakable note of triumph in his voice, came Paul’s answer.
“‘All mankind by their fall lost communion with God, are under his wrath and curse, and so made liable to the miseries in this life, to death itself, and to the pains of hell forever.’”
“That ought to do you good, you old sinner,” said Gaspard.