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Updated: April 30, 2025
It is hard for a good man to summon up sins enough to make a decent confession; nearly always they fall back in the end upon the same worn and respectable category. "I confess to the sin of pride," he pronounced slowly. "And to good deeds and kind acts undone; to moments of harshness and impatience " "Mista Matee Snow confessee?"
Any time Mista Minista wantee confessee, Mista God makee allee light. Mista Yen Sin allee same like Mista God. Wait. Wait. Wait. Laugh. Cly inside!" Mate Snow was leaning forward on the bench in a queer, lazy attitude, his face buried in his hands and his elbows propped on his knees.
The outer and inner manifestations confession and faith." "Me, Mista Yen Sin confessee?" A curious and shocking change had come over the Chinaman in the little time I had been away. He lay quite motionless on his couch, with a bit of silken tapestry behind his head, like a heathen halo protecting him at last.
In the hush I heard news of the blasphemy whispering from lip to lip, out the door and up the awe-struck dock. Mate Snow lifted a hand. "Stop!" he cried. "Yen Sin, you are standing in the Valley of the Shadow of Death " "Mista Matee Snow wickee man? No? Yes? Mista Matee Snow confessee?" The Chinaman was making a game of his death-bed, and even the dullest caught the challenge.
"Mista Matee Snow confessee, yes?" There was a moment of shocked silence while our great man stared at Yen Sin. He took his weight from the counter and stood up straight. "I confess my sins to God," he said. The other moved a fluttering hand over his collars. "Mista Yen Sin allee same like Mista God, yes."
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