"It is a very strong affection to have sprung up from a short
acquaintance on a raft," she remarked, sententiously.
"I saved his infant life, you know; and the benefactor always loves the
thing he benefits. It is on this principle alone God loves his erring
creatures, Mrs. Clayton, rest assured."
"If you had loved the child with true friendship, you would have pushed
him into the sea, rather than have held him in your arms above it."
"Do you suppose he is less near to God than you or I--to Christ the
all-merciful?" I questioned, sternly. "Much rather would I have that
infant's yet unconscious hope of heaven than either yours or mine, Mrs.
Clayton!"
"But his earthly hope--it was that I alluded to; what chance for him?
Poor, weakly, deformed; he had better be at rest than knocked from
pillar to post, as he must be in this hard, cold world of chance and
change."
"And that shall never be while I live, Ernie," I said, taking him again
in my lap, at his silent solicitation. "Why, Mrs. Clayton, with such a
noble soul, such intelligence as this child possesses, he may fill a
pulpit, and save erring souls, or write such beautiful poems and
romances as shall thrill the heart, or draw from an instrument sounds as
divine as De Beriot's, or paint a picture, and immortalize his name;
there is nothing too good, too great for Ernie to do, should God grant
him life to achieve; and, as surely as I am spared to be enfranchised,
shall I make this gifted child my charge.
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