I had forgotten his name was James. He was only Fenwick Major to me.
"Now, little wife," he said, "let me tell Chirnside how I've been a bad fellow, but the Little 'Un pulled me through. It was the best day's work I ever did when I married Sis!"
"James!" she said again, warningly.
"Look here, Chirnside," Fenwick went on, "the Little 'Un can't read; but, do you know, she sleeps with my old mother's Bible under her pillow. I can't read either, though you would hardly know it. I lost my sight the year I married (my own fault, of course), and I've been no better than a block ever since. I want you to read me a bit out of the old Book."
"Why didn't you send for a minister, Fenwick?" I said. "He could talk to you better than I can."
"Don't want anybody to speak to me. Little 'Un has done all that. But I want you to read. And, see here, Chirnside, I was a brute beast to you once—quarrelled with you years ago—"
"Don't think of that, Fenwick Major!" I said. "That's all right!"
"Well, I won't," he said; "for what's the use? But Little 'Un said,
'Don't let the sun go down upon your wrath.' 'And no more I will, Little
'Un,' says I. So I sent a boy after you, old man."
Now, you fellows, don't laugh; but there and then I read three or four chapters of the Bible—out of Fenwick's mother's Bible—the one she handed in at the carriage window that morning he and I set off for college. I actually did and this is the Bible.
[Bentley and Tad Anderson do not laugh.