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Updated: May 13, 2025
"Th' Lard'll sure not be denyin' mother an' Emily, an' they askin' He every day t' bring me back. He sure would not be denyin' they for He knows how bad 'twould be makin' they feel if I were not comin' home. An' He wouldn't be wantin' that, for they never does nothin' t' make He cross with un." This thought comforted him and he said confidently to himself,
'Tis Christ as you've turned your stiff back 'pon Christ as'll let this poor lass into heaven afore ever you gets theer! You ban't in sight o' the gates o' pearl, not you, for all your cold prayers. You'm young in well-doin'; an' 'tis a 'ard road you'll fetch home by, I'll swear; an' 'tis more'n granite the Lard'll use to make your heart bleed.
Gray, who was still lying awake with her trouble, heard Emily softly speak: "Mother." She stole over to Emily's couch and kissed the child's cheek. "Mother, an' th' wolves killed Bob, won't he be an angel now?" "Bob's livin' somewheres child, an' I'm prayin' th' Lard in His mercy t' care of th' lad. Th' Lard knows where un is, lass, an' th' Lard'll sure not be forgettin' he."
I read to en 'bout that theer bwoy, the awnly son o' his mother, an' her a widder-wumman, an' how as the Lard brought en round arter he'd gone dead." Gray Michael sniffed and made no comment. "I'll see en an' put up a prayer or so," he said. "An' the Lard'll reward it, Mr. Tregenza." Young Albert Vallack greeted the visitor with even greater reverence than his mother had done.
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