“I know exactly how you feel, Paul, for I've been through it. I've served my Heavenly Master as well as I know how ever since His redeemin' light broke over me away back when I was young; but when He took my only child He took all that seemed worth while in my life. Folks will tell you that time will heal the wound; but I never waste words over that, for I know, from experience, that when a body is bowed down like you are, that it ain't the future you need as a salve, but somethin' right now. Thar is one thing that will help, an' I wish I actually knowed you had it. Paul, empty-minded men like Jim Hoag may sneer and poke fun, but jest as shore as that light out thar in the street comes from the sun thar is a spiritual flood from God hisse'f that pores into hearts that are not wilfully closed ag'in' it. I don't want to brag, but I don't know how I can make it plain without tellin' my own experience. My boy, I'm a pore man; I make my livin' at the humblest work that man ever engaged in, an' yet from momin' till night I'm happy—I'm plumb happy. As God is my judge, I wouldn't swap places with any millionaire that ever walked the earth, for I know his money an' gaudy holdin's would stand betwixt me an' the glory I've got. If I had an idle hour to spare, do you know whar I'd be? I'd be on the side o' that mountain, starin' out over the blue hills, a-shoutin' an' a-singin' praises to God. Some folks say I'm crazy on religion—let 'em—let 'em! History is chock full of accounts of great men, learned in all the wisdom of earth—princes, rulers, poets, who, like St. Paul an' our Lord, declared that all things which was not of the sperit was vanity, dross, an' the very dregs an' scum of existence. So you see, as I look at it—an' as maybe you don't just yet—yore pa ain't like you think he is. You see 'im lyin' thar like that, an' you cayn't look beyond the garment of flesh he has shucked off, but I can. He's beat you 'n me both, Paul; his eyes are opened to a blaze o' glory that would dazzle and blind our earthly sight. Death is jest a ugly gate that we pass through from a cloudy, dark, stuffy place out into the vast open air of Eternity. O Paul, Paul, I want you to try to get hold of this thing, for you need it. This is a sharp crisis in yore life; you've let some things harden you, an' if you don't watch out this great stunnin' blow may drag you even deeper into the mire. I feel sech a big interest in you that I jest can't hold in. I know I'm talkin' powerful plain, an' uninvited, too, but I can't help it. Knowin' that you've been about Jim Hoag a good deal, an' rememberin' little remarks you've dropped now an' then, I'm afraid you hain't got as much faith in the goodness of God as—”
“Goodness of God! Huh—poof!” Paul snorted, his stare on the ground.
“Paul, Paul, don't, don't say that!” Tye pleaded, his kindly eyes filling. “I can't bear to hear it from a young boy like you. Youth is the time most folks believe in all that's good; doubts sometimes come on later in life. It sounds awful to hear you say sech rebellious things when you stand so much in need of, the only help in all the universe.”
“I don't believe there is any God,” Paul muttered, fiercely, “and if I did I'd not believe he was a good one, when I know what's took place an' what's goin' on. The wild beasts in the woods come from the same source as me, an' they fight for what they get; bugs and worms and flying things and crawling things live on one another. That's the only way for us to do if we expect to live. The only difference in men and beasts is that men can remember wrongs longer and know how to plan revenge, an' git it.”
“Oh, my Lord!” The shoemaker lowered his head and seemed to be praying. Presently he looked up, grasped his beard with his blackened fingers, and pulled his lips apart. “I see, you are like most folks when they are under a great, fresh grief. I've knowed some o' the best Christians to turn square ag'in' the'r Maker at sech times—especially women who had lost the'r young in some horrible way—but even they'd come around finally to admit that God knowed best. Take my own case. Would I want my boy back now? No, no, Paul; as great as the pride an' joy would be I know he's in better hands than mine. It's hard on you now; but, sad as it is, this may result in good—good that you can't begin to see in advance. If we had the all-seein' eye we might pass judgment; but we are blind—blind as moles. You can't see that yore pore pa is better off, but he is—he is. I know he is—God knows he is.”
CHAPTER XV
AT the end of the main street, as he rode homeward, Paul saw Ethel Mayfield coming toward him, her head down as if in deep thought. His first impulse was to turn aside, to avoid meeting her, but he saw that such a thing would be unpardonable. In spite of the weight that was on him, he felt the warm blood of embarrassment rushing to his face as the distance shortened between them.
There was a sweet, startled look of concern in her childish eyes as she raised them to him.