"Love them,
sir! They are infidels, and therefore the good Christian must
only hate them. They are thieves--they will steal from you before
your very face, so devoid are they of all shame. And also
murderers; gladly would they burn this poor thatch above my head,
and kill me and my poor grandchild, who shares this solitary life
with me, if they had the courage. But they are all arrant
cowards, and fear to approach me--fear even to come into this
wood. You would laugh to hear what they are afraid of--a child
would laugh to hear it!"
"What do they fear?" I said, for his words had excited my
interest in a great degree.
"Why, sir, would you believe it? They fear this child--my
granddaughter, seated there before you. A poor innocent girl of
seventeen summers, a Christian who knows her Catechism, and would
not harm the smallest thing that God has made--no, not a fly,
which is not regarded on account of its smallness. Why, sir, it
is due to her tender heart that you are safely sheltered here,
instead of being left out of doors in this tempestuous night."
"To her--to this girl?" I returned in astonishment.
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