I've piped to en hot an' strong, as Joan
knaws, but he ban't gwaine to dance 'tall seemin'ly. Poor sawl! When the
hand o' the Lard do fall, God send 'twon't crush en all in all.
'Saved'--_him_--dear, dear!"
"The likes of Tregenza be saved 'pon St. Tibbs Eve, [Footnote: _St. Tibbs
Eve_--Equivalent to the "Greek Calends."] I reckon, an' no sooner,"
answered Mary scornfully. Then she modified her fiery statement according
to her custom, for the woman's zeal always had first call upon her tongue,
and her judgment usually took off the edge of every harsh statement
immediately upon its utterance.
"Leastways 'tis hard to see how sich bowldashious standin' up in the eye o'
God should prosper. But us can be saved even from our awnselves, I s'pose.
So Tregenza have got his chance along o' the best."
Joan never resented the outspoken criticisms on her parent. She listened,
but rarely joined the discussion. The whole matter speedily sank to a
position of insignificance. Her own mind was clear, and the deadlock only
cut off one more outer interest and reduced Life's existing influences to a
smaller field. She drew more and more into herself, slipped more and more
from out the routine life of Drift. She became self-centered, and when her
body was not absent, as happened upon most fine days, her mind abstracted
itself to extreme limits. She grew shy of fellow-creatures, found no day
happy of which a part had not been spent beside a cross, showed a gradual
indifference to the services of the church which not long since had
attracted her so strongly and braced the foundations of her soul.
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