"An' He's been rare good t' me."
Then like a bulwark to lean against there came to him the words of his
mother as they parted that beautiful September morning:
"Don't forget your prayers, lad, an' remember your mother's prayin'
for you every night an' every mornin'."
And Emily had said, too, that she would ask God every night to keep
him safe. This brought him a renewal of his faith and he argued,
"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,
"Th' Lard'll be showin' th' way when th' right time comes an' I'll try
t' bide content till then."
But there was little in the surroundings to warrant Bob's faith.
Looking about him from the hilltop he could see nothing but open sea
around the island with an expanse of desolation beyond--snow, snow
everywhere, from the water's edge to where the rugged mountains to the
south and east held their cold heads into the gray clouds that hid the
sky and sun. The sea was sombre and black.
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