“Kitty,” said the rector, “you will have to take my prescription’not mine, but one given by the Greatest of physicians. Unless you do that, you will have no rest for mind or body, no sleep, and you will be worn out before the trial.”
“What is that?”
He told her. “The matter, you see, is taken out of your hands. You can do nothing by torturing your brain with thoughts how to avoid this, how to modify that.”
“It is so.”
“Then cast all your care upon God, for He careth for you. Now go to sleep, and be fresh to-morrow.”
The rector left his house and visited the Cellars. The rick was resolved into a huge glowing ember, from which fell avalanches of fiery powder. Above the mass flickered ghost-like blue flames, not in touch with the incandescent heap below.
At the door of the house the rector encountered Pasco Pepperill.
“There’see how I am served by the public!” exclaimed Pasco. “When a misfortune happens, there are always some wanton rascals to do mischief above and beyond what is the main loss.”
“What has happened to you now, Mr. Pepperill?” asked the rector.
“Some idle vagabonds have been at my boat again,” answered Pasco. “It was so when my stores were burnt’not the same night, but soon after’out of sheer wickedness they cut my old boat adrift, and I lost her. She was carried out by the tide, and never have I heard of her from that day to this.”