We Two [148]
thoughts which outlasted the sermon.
At the top was a medallion, the profile of the same fine, soldierly looking man whose portrait hung in Donovan's study, and which was so wonderfully like both himself and little Ralph. Beneath was the following inscription:
In loving Memory of RALPH FARRANT, Who died at Porthkerran, Cornwall, May 3, 18--, Aged 45
Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning."
The date was sixteen years back, but the tablet was comparatively new, and could not have been up more than six years at the outside. Erica was able partly to understand why Donovan had chosen for it that particular text, and nothing could more effectually have counteracted Mr. Cuthbert's sermon than the thoughts which it awoke in her.
Nevertheless, she did not quite get over the ruffled feeling, which was now in a great measure physical, and it was with a sense of relief that she found herself again in the open air, in the warmth, and sunshine, and gladness of the September day. Donovan did not say a word. They passed through the little church yard, and walked slowly up the winding lane; the children, who had stopped to gather a fine cluster of blackberries, were close behind them. In the silence, every word of their talk could be distinctly heard.
"I don't like God!" exclaimed Ralph, abruptly.
"Oh, you naughty!" exclaimed Dolly, much shocked.
"No, it isn't naughty. I don't think He's good. Why, do you think father would let us be shut up in a horrid place for always and always? Course he wouldn't. I 'spects if we'd got to go, he'd come, too."
Donovan and Erica looked at each other. Donovan turned round, and held out his hand, at which both children rushed.
"Ralph," he said, "if any one told you that I might some day leave off loving you, leave off being your father what would you do?"
"I'd knock them down!" said Ralph, clinching his small fist.
Donovan laughed a little, but did not then attempt to prove the questionable wisdom of such a proceeding.
"Why would you feel inclined to knock them down?" he asked.
"Because it would be a wicked lie!" cried Ralph. "Because I know you never could, father."
"You are quite right. Of course I never could. You would never believe any one who told you that I could, because you would know it was impossible. But just now you believed what some one said about God, though you wouldn't have believed it of me. Never believe anything which contradicts 'Our Father.' It will be our father punishing us now and hereafter, and you may be sure that He will do the best possible for all His children. You are quite sure that I should only punish you to do you good, and how much more sure may you be that God, who loves you so much more, will do the same, and will never give you up."
Ralph looked hard at his bunch of blackberries, and was silent. Many thoughts were working in his childish brain. Presently he said, meditatively:
"He did shout it out so loud and horrid! I s'pose he had forgotten about 'Our Father.' But, you see, Dolly, it was all a mistake. Come along, let's race down the drive."
Off they ran. Erica fancied that Donovan watched them rather sadly.
"I thought Ralph was listening in church," she said. "Fancy a child of his age thinking it all out like that!"
"Children think much more than people imagine," said Donovan. "And a child invariably carries out a doctrine to its logical conclusion. "Tis wonderful the fine sense of justice which you always find in them!"
"Ralph inherits that from you, I should think. How exactly like you he is, especially when he is puzzling out some question in his own mind."
A strange shadow passed over Donovan's face. He was silent for a moment.
"'Tis hard to be brave for one's own child," he said at last. "I confess that the thought that Ralph may have to live through what I have lived through is almost unendurable to me."
"How vexed you must have been that he heard
At the top was a medallion, the profile of the same fine, soldierly looking man whose portrait hung in Donovan's study, and which was so wonderfully like both himself and little Ralph. Beneath was the following inscription:
In loving Memory of RALPH FARRANT, Who died at Porthkerran, Cornwall, May 3, 18--, Aged 45
Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning."
The date was sixteen years back, but the tablet was comparatively new, and could not have been up more than six years at the outside. Erica was able partly to understand why Donovan had chosen for it that particular text, and nothing could more effectually have counteracted Mr. Cuthbert's sermon than the thoughts which it awoke in her.
Nevertheless, she did not quite get over the ruffled feeling, which was now in a great measure physical, and it was with a sense of relief that she found herself again in the open air, in the warmth, and sunshine, and gladness of the September day. Donovan did not say a word. They passed through the little church yard, and walked slowly up the winding lane; the children, who had stopped to gather a fine cluster of blackberries, were close behind them. In the silence, every word of their talk could be distinctly heard.
"I don't like God!" exclaimed Ralph, abruptly.
"Oh, you naughty!" exclaimed Dolly, much shocked.
"No, it isn't naughty. I don't think He's good. Why, do you think father would let us be shut up in a horrid place for always and always? Course he wouldn't. I 'spects if we'd got to go, he'd come, too."
Donovan and Erica looked at each other. Donovan turned round, and held out his hand, at which both children rushed.
"Ralph," he said, "if any one told you that I might some day leave off loving you, leave off being your father what would you do?"
"I'd knock them down!" said Ralph, clinching his small fist.
Donovan laughed a little, but did not then attempt to prove the questionable wisdom of such a proceeding.
"Why would you feel inclined to knock them down?" he asked.
"Because it would be a wicked lie!" cried Ralph. "Because I know you never could, father."
"You are quite right. Of course I never could. You would never believe any one who told you that I could, because you would know it was impossible. But just now you believed what some one said about God, though you wouldn't have believed it of me. Never believe anything which contradicts 'Our Father.' It will be our father punishing us now and hereafter, and you may be sure that He will do the best possible for all His children. You are quite sure that I should only punish you to do you good, and how much more sure may you be that God, who loves you so much more, will do the same, and will never give you up."
Ralph looked hard at his bunch of blackberries, and was silent. Many thoughts were working in his childish brain. Presently he said, meditatively:
"He did shout it out so loud and horrid! I s'pose he had forgotten about 'Our Father.' But, you see, Dolly, it was all a mistake. Come along, let's race down the drive."
Off they ran. Erica fancied that Donovan watched them rather sadly.
"I thought Ralph was listening in church," she said. "Fancy a child of his age thinking it all out like that!"
"Children think much more than people imagine," said Donovan. "And a child invariably carries out a doctrine to its logical conclusion. "Tis wonderful the fine sense of justice which you always find in them!"
"Ralph inherits that from you, I should think. How exactly like you he is, especially when he is puzzling out some question in his own mind."
A strange shadow passed over Donovan's face. He was silent for a moment.
"'Tis hard to be brave for one's own child," he said at last. "I confess that the thought that Ralph may have to live through what I have lived through is almost unendurable to me."
"How vexed you must have been that he heard