He'm all wrong an' doan't knaw nothin' 'tall 'bout God. I do
knaw what I knaw. Theer's more o' God in that gert shine o' buttercups 'pon
the grass than in all them whey-faced chapel folks put together."
"My stars, Joan!"
"'Tis truth, an' you'll find 'tis some day, same as what I have."
"I doan't see how any lad be gwaine to make heaven myself," said Tom
gloomily. "Us had a mining cap'n from Camborne preach this marnin', an', by
Gollies! 'tweer like sittin' tu near a gert red'ot fire. Her rubbed it in,
I tell 'e, same as you rubs salt into a hake. Faither said 'twas braave
talk. But you, Joan, what's wrong with 'e, what have you done?"
"I ain't done no wrong, Tom, an' you can take my word for't."
"Do 'e reckon you'm damned, like what faither sez?"
"Never! I doan't care a grain o' wheat what faither sez. What I done
weern't no sin, 'cause him, as be wiser an' cleverer an' better every way
than any man in Carnwall, said 'tweern't; an' he knawed. I've heard wise
things said, an' I've minded some an' forgot others. None can damn folks
but God, when all's done, an' He's the last as would; for God do love even
the creeping, gashly worms under a turned stone tu well to damn 'em. Much
more humans. I be a Nature's cheel an' doan't b'lieve in no devil an' no
hell-fire 'tall."
"I wish I was a Nachur's cheel then."
Joan flung down a little bouquet of starry stitchworts she had gathered
upon the way and turned very earnestly to Tom.
Pages:
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273