"Why, that's different again, Anna, and so I don't mind showing him a thing or two if time and opportoonity offer."

"Are ye for Tonbridge Fair, Jessamy?" enquired the Tinker.

"I am so, Jerry. I'm a-marching, comrade, wi' royals and studden-sails set, messmate, and all for the glory o' the Lord, brother."

"Then if you'm be minded for a lift, Jessamy, there be room for ye alongside Peregrine!" Up we mounted forthwith, the Tinker gave Diogenes his head, and we b.u.mped and jingled on our way.

"Pray, Mr. Todd," I gasped, as we clutched and swayed together, "may I enquire if you have been a soldier or a sailor?"

"Both, brother," he answered, "I was a powder-boy aboard the old _Bully-Sawyer_--a powder-monkey and sat on my tub?"

"But why on a tub?"

"In case o' sparks from the guns--broadside agin' the wind--"

"What--have you been in action?"

"For sure, brother--"

"Ah!" I exclaimed eagerly. "Tell me about it."

"I can't, brother--all as I remember is sparks and flame--the roar of the guns--screams and cries--blood and--things as no eyes should see and bad to think on--and me squatting on my tub amidst it all--wanting my mother. Later on I turned soldier and didn't find that life a bed o' roses either; to-day I'm a soldier o' the Lord ready to fight, sing and preach to His glory, and ever ready to cheat Old Nick o' what don't belong to him--"

"What do you mean?"

"Souls, brother. I plucks brands from the burning with j'y and gather sheaves with grat.i.tood. You've 'eard o' body-s.n.a.t.c.hers, I suppose?"

"I have."

"Well, I'm a soul-s.n.a.t.c.her. I s.n.a.t.c.hes 'em to the Lord whensoever and wheresoever I can, brother."

"But surely," I demurred, "the soul, which is an abstraction, a part of the Infinite and thus of G.o.d Himself, is therefore imperishable.

Socrates taught this, Pantheism is based on this, the arguments of the Peripatetic Philosophers all trend to this belief, and Christ preached the Soul's immortality and life after death. Thus, if the Soul is immortal and cannot perish, how may it be saved?"

"By the Blood o' the Lamb, brother; otherwise ye shall be cast into outer darkness to weep and gnash."

"But why?"

"For sins, committed in the flesh and unrepented."

"Supposing a man sins daily for threescore years and ten and dies unrepentant, must he go down to h.e.l.l and be tormented for ever and ever for so short a time of sinning?"

"He must, brother, alas!"

"Horrible!" I cried. "Horrible, and most unjust."

"Why, it do seem a bit 'ard to the likes o' we, brother, but then we only see as through a gla.s.s darkly. G.o.d is a just G.o.d, a jealous G.o.d and a G.o.d o' Vengeance; 't is in the Book--"

"Then this is not Christ's Heavenly Father, but Jehovah, the blood-spattered deity of the Jews, a G.o.d of battles, of sacrifices and death, a G.o.d pitiless and without mercy. But man's soul, being conceived of the Infinite Mind, may never utterly perish even though corrupt with sin or debased by ignorance, for even then that divine Spark which is the very life of the soul shall sooner or later grow to a flame, burning up the evil, lighting the gloom of ignorance until in course of time, years, ages, or aeons, the soul purified and perfected shall win back to the G.o.d whence it came!"

For a full minute after I had ended Jessamy Todd was silent, staring from me to the cloudless sky and back again with a look of growing perplexity; at length he spoke:

"You've seen better days, brother, I'm thinking."

"No, indeed," I answered, "never so good as these."

"I'm likewise thinkin' as your speech and talk don't rightly match your rig-out, brother."

"Which, on the whole, is just as well," I answered.

"And you've read and learned a lot from books, brother."

"But you have read a better book, friend Todd, and much more of it."

"Ah, you mean this, brother?" said he, taking out a small, well-worn Bible.

"I mean the Book of Life," I answered; "you have lived while I have only dreamed, so far."

"Why, to be sure, I've seen a good deal o' life and something o'

death, one way or another. I've known friendship and loneliness, plenty and poverty, been hooted and cheered and had a prince shake my fist--"

"What for?"

"'T was arter I'd beat the Chelsea Sn.o.b, him as licked the Bristol Slasher; they thought the Sn.o.b would eat me but--ah, well these were days o' vanity, brother, and no grace about me--no, not a ha'porth."

"Please tell me of it."

"Well, I was fighting for Sir Jervas then, him they call 'The Firebrand'--"

"Do you mean Sir Jervas Vereker?"

"Aye, I do--one o' the bang-up n.o.bs, a tip o' the tippies, but the best sportsman and truest friend ever man fought for--"

"Good!" quoth I.

"D'ye happen to know him, brother?" enquired Jessamy, with another look of mild surprise.

"I begin to think I do not," I answered. "Pray, why is he called 'The Firebrand'?"

"Because he's allus so precious cool, I reckon."

"Well, pray continue," I urged.

But at this moment we became aware of a confused uproar, a ribaldry of laughter and shouting. Round I started, to see we were approaching a small inn, with a sign bearing the legend "The Ring o' Bells," before which inn stood a number of vehicles and a rough crowd of merrymakers who danced and sang and flourished ale-pots. Beholding this unholy company, my alarm grew, for it seemed their vociferations were directed at us.

"Pull up, Tinker--pull up and drink wi' us!" roared one.

"Aye--a drink, a drink, come down an' drink!" cried another.