“Now,” said Dr. Gale, “let us give thanks unto 92 Him who hath given this youth understanding to do this great work.”
With bared heads and devout hearts the thanksgiving went upward, and thereafter a perfect shower of questions pelted David Bushnell concerning his device to blow up ships: how he came to think of it at all—where he got this idea and that as to its construction—to all of which he simply said:
“You’ll find your answer in the prayer you’ve just offered!”
“But,” said practical Mr. Bushnell, “the Lord did not send you money to buy oak and iron and brass, did he?”
“Yes,” returned David, “by the hand of my good friend, Dr. Gale. To him belongs half the victory.”
“Pshaw! pshaw!” impatiently uttered the doctor. “I tell you it is no such thing! I only advanced My Lady here,” turning to Madam Bushnell, “a little money, on her promise to pay me at some future time. I’m mightily ashamed now that I took the promise at all. Madam Bushnell, I’ll never take a penny of it back again, never, as long as I live. I will have a little of the credit of this achievement, and no one shall hinder me.”
“How is that, mother?” questioned Mr. Bushnell. “You borrow money and not tell me!” and David and Ezra looked at her.
“I—I—” stammered forth the woman, “I only guessed that David was doing something that he 93 wanted money for, and told Dr. Gale if he gave it to him I would repay it. Do you care, father?”
Before he had a chance to get an answer in, David Bushnell stepped forward, and, taking the little figure of his mother in his arms, kissed her sharply, and walked away, to give some imaginary attention to the Turtle at the bank.
“It is a fair land to work for!” spoke up Doctor Franklin, looking about upon river and earth and sea; “worthy it is of our highest efforts; of our lives, even, if need be. God give us strength as our need shall be.”