“But maybe I’m not one of the elect. Didn’t seem like it on Sunday, did it?”
“That was the Lord’s trial sent to us both—He delivered you unto Satan for a while that you might find His ways.”
“Reckon His ways are not for my finding.”
“I will pray for you, my dear.”
“Father, you promise, you swear, as you’ll never let me go? I sometimes feel as if there was only you standing betwixt me and hell. Reckon you’re the only soul in all the world that cares about me.”
11
By the time Mus’ Beatup had groped his stumbling way from Hailsham to Sunday Street, the anxieties of Worge about Ivy were at an end. A letter had come during the morning and was flapped in his face. He was not sober enough to read it, nor yet too drunk to have it read to him.
“8 Bozzum Square,
“Hastings.
“Dear Mother,—I hope this finds you well as it leaves me at present. I got fed up as the boys say and came here. Do you remember Ellen Apps and her folk lived at the Fowl Mile up the Hollowbones. She is here working on the trams, I heard from Jen, so thought I go and ask her. She says I will get a job in a day or 2 with my strong physic, so do not worry about me, I am with Ellen and hope to start work next week. Having no more to say, I will now draw to a close. Fondest love from
“Your loving daughter, Ivy.”
“I toald you as she’d never gone wud Seagrim!” cried Mrs. Beatup.