Page:The Ball and the Cross.djvu/147

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Grassley-in-the-Hole
137

MacIan was silent.

“Go on,” repeated Turnbull; “what’s the matter with you? What are you staring at?”

“I am staring,” said MacIan at last, “at that which shall judge us both.”

“Oh, yes,” said Turnbull in a tired way, “I suppose you mean God.”

“No, I don’t,” said MacIan, shaking his head. “I mean him.”

And he pointed to the half-tipsy yokel who was ploughing down the road.

“What do you mean?” asked the atheist.

“I mean him,” repeated MacIan with emphasis. “He goes out in the early dawn; he digs or he ploughs a field. Then he comes back and drinks ale, and then he sings a song. All your philosophies and political systems are young compared to him. All your hoary cathedrals, yes, even the Eternal Church on earth is new compared to him. The most mouldering gods in the British Museum are new facts beside him. It is he who in the end shall judge us all.”

And MacIan rose to his feet with a vague excitement.

“What are you going to do?”

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