Theer's a sourness along
of it. Luke Gosp'ling doan't soften the heart of en."
"It should," said Mary.
"An's so it should, but he says the world's no plaace for softness. He'm a
terror to the evildoer; an' he'm a terror to the righteous-doer; an' to
hisself no less, I reckon; an' to God A'mighty tu, so like's not. The
friends of en be as feared of en as his foes be. An' that's awful wisht,
'cause he goes an' comes purty nigh alone. The Gosp'lers be like fry flyin'
this way an' that 'fore a school o' mackerl when Michael's among 'em. Even
minister, he do shrivel a inch or two 'longside o' Michael. I've seen en
wras'lin' wi' the Word same as Jacob wras'led wi' the angel. An' yet, why?
Theer's a man chosen for glory this five-an'-forty years, an' he knaws it
so well as I do, or any wan."
"He knaws nothin' o' the sort. The best abbun no right to say it," declared
Mary.
Then Mrs. Tregenza fired up, for she resented any criticism on this subject
other than her own.
"An' why not, Polly Chirgwin? Who's a right to doubt it? Not you, I reckon,
Ban't your plaace to judge a man as walks wi' God, like Moses done. If
Michael edn' saved, then theer's no sawl saved 'pon land or sea. You
talk--a young maiden! His sawl was bleedin' an' his hands raw a batterin'
the gate o' heaven 'fore you was born, Polly--ay, an' he'd got the
bettermost o' the devil wance for all 'fore you was conceived in the womb;
you mind that.
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