Now, I tell you that for months--iss,
years--after Bob was born I kept plaguing myself in the fields,
thinking that some harm might have happened to the child. Why, I
used to make an excuse and creep home, and then if I see'd a blind
pulled down you wouldn't think how my heart'd go thump; and I'd stand
wi' my head on the door-hapse an' say, 'If so be the Lord have
took'n, I must go and comfort Susan--not my will, but Thine, Lord--
but, Lord, don't 'ee be cruel this time!' And then find the cheeld
right as ninepence and the blind only pulled down to keep the sun off
the carpet. After a while my wife guessed what was wrong--I used to
make up such poor twiddling pretences. She said, 'Look here, the
Lord and me'll see after Bob; and if you can't keep to your own work
without poking your nose into ours, then I married for worse and not
for better.' Then it came upon me that by leaving the Lord to look
after my job I'd been treating Him like a farm labourer. It's the
things you can't help he looks after--not the work."
A few evenings later there came a knock at the door, and Lizzie, who
went to open it, returned with the Bryanite skipping behind her.
"Blessings be upon this here house!" he cried, cutting a sort of
double shuffle on the threshold. He shook hands with the farmer and
his wife, and nodded toward Taffy. "So you've got Parson Raymond's
boy here!"
"Yes," said Mrs.
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