His last words upon the
subject shadowed this conviction.
"Please God time may soften 'e, Tregenza; an', maybe, soften Joan tu. Her
heart's warm yet, an' the truth will find its plaace theer in the Lard's
awn time; but you--I doubt 'tedn' in you to change."
"Never, till wrong be right."
"You makes me sorry for 'e, Tregenza."
"Weep for yourself, Thomas Chirgwin. You'm that contented, an' the
contented sawl be allus farthest from God if you awnly knawed it. Wheer's
your fear an' tremblin' too? I've never seed 'e afeared or shaken 'fore the
thrawn o' the Most High in your life. But I 'sure 'e, thee'll come to it."
"An' you say that!' You'm 'mazin' blind, Tregenza, for all you walk in the
Light. The Light's dazed 'e, I'm thinkin', same as birds a breakin' theer
wings 'gainst lighthouse glasses. You sez you be a worm twenty times a day,
an' yet you'm proud enough for Satan hisself purty nigh. If you'm a worm,
why doan't 'e act like a worm an' be humble-minded? 'Tis the lil childern
gets into heaven. You'm stiff-necked, Michael Tregenza. I sez it respectful
an' in sorrer; but 'tis true."
"I hope the Lard won't lay thy sin to thy charge, my poor sawl," answered
the fisherman with perfect indifference. "You--you dares to speak agin me!
I wish I could give 'e a hand an' drag 'e a lil higher up the ladder o'
righteousness, Chirgwin; but you'm o' them as caan't dance or else won't,
not if God A'mighty's Self piped to 'e.
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