Luke Claridge had understood neither, not his wife when she had said:
"Thee should let the Lord do His own work, Luke," nor his dying daughter
Mercy, whose last words had been: "With love and sorrow I have sowed; he
shall reap rejoicing--my babe. Thee will set him in the garden in the
sun, where God may find him--God will not pass him by. He will take him
by the hand and lead him home." The old man had thought her touched by
delirium then, though her words were but the parable of a mind fed by the
poetry of life, by a shy spirit, to which meditation gave fancy and
farseeing. David had come by his idealism honestly. The half-mystical
spirit of his Uncle Benn had flowed on to another generation through the
filter of a woman's sad soul. It had come to David a pure force, a
constructive and practical idealism.
Now, as Faith read, there were ringing in the old man's ears the words
which David's mother had said before she closed her eyes and passed away:
"Set him in the garden in the sun, where God may find him--God will not
pass him by.
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