clue. But like many an unbelieving man of so-called religion, he saw no reason to take any chances.
A brief shudder coursed through him at the words that had just echoed about his table, as if his daughter’s audacity was tantamount to a curse against the gods and would bring retribution down upon them all. “Of course I do, Flory,” he replied, unaccountably ruffled by her perceptive assessment of his usual outlook of a Sunday morning.
“Then where is he, in heaven or hell?”
“How in blazes should I know? I’m no priest. I didn’t even know the man.”
“What do you think, Percy?” said Florilyn, turning and staring across the table with large, inquiring, devilish eyes. “You’re the son of a minister. You probably know all about such things.”
Taken by surprise, Percy had no leisure to prepare himself for suddenly finding himself on the spot.
Glad to be off it himself, this time his uncle did not rescue him.
“What do I think about what?” he said.
“Whether the dead man will go to heaven or hell.”
“I would say the same thing as Uncle Roderick—how should I know? I suppose it would depend on what he believed.”
“Do
you
think there’s a heaven and hell, Percy?” she asked, blinking her large eyes playfully several times with feigned sincerity.
“I don’t know. I suppose I don’t really know what I believe.”
“Doesn’t Uncle Edward preach about heaven and hell all the time?”
The question took Percy off guard. He found himself thinking a moment. “Actually,” he said slowly, “now that you mention it … no, he really doesn’t. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him preach a sermon about heaven and hell.”
“What does he preach about then?”
“I don’t know … doing good, being nice … He’s always talking about doing what Jesus said. That’s one of his favorite phrases.”
“What does that mean? How can anyone do what Jesus said?” laughed Florilyn. “Why would anyone even want to?”
“I don’t know,” replied Percy a little testily. “I’m not claiming to know what it means. I’m just telling you what he says, that’s all.”
He suddenly found himself in the uncomfortably weird position of beginning to defend his father against his cousin’s nettlesome barbs. He didn’t like it. He had no interest in pursuing this line of conversation or being on the receiving end of his cousin’s irksome interrogation.
Without planning it, he turned to Florilyn’s brother at his right. “Who’s the chap you went hunting with?” he asked.
“Colville?” said Courtnenay. “He’s our neighbor.”
“Colville Burrenchobay,” added the viscount, relieved to have the opportunity to wrest the conversation away from his daughter. “His father owns the land adjacent to mine, northward.”
“I saw what looked like a castle when I was riding,” said Percy, “about two miles away, I would say.”
“That’s it.” His uncle laughed. “Burrenchobay Hall. Hardly a castle, but an imposing edifice indeed. Colville’s a year older than Courtenay. His father represents Gwynedd in parliament. But we try to forgive Trevelyan his odd politics. The boys grew up together. I doubt there’s a square inch between Blanau Ffestiniog and Barmouth you two lads haven’t explored together, wouldn’t you say, Courtenay?”
Courtnenay nodded.
“Well, if you’re the horseman Florilyn seems to think, Percy my boy,” the viscount went on, “I’m sure you will learn your way around the hills in no time. No better place in all the world to ride.”
“I ran into a fellow today with a flock of sheep,” said Percy. “But the horse didn’t seem to mind them.”
“You’ll find sheep everywhere in the fields and hills,” rejoined his uncle. “The horses ignore them. Who was he—did he tell you his name?”
“Yes … uh, let me see—Stevie … something like that, I think.”
“That’s Stevie Muir,” said Florilyn. “A big, ugly oaf if you ask me.”
“He
A brief shudder coursed through him at the words that had just echoed about his table, as if his daughter’s audacity was tantamount to a curse against the gods and would bring retribution down upon them all. “Of course I do, Flory,” he replied, unaccountably ruffled by her perceptive assessment of his usual outlook of a Sunday morning.
“Then where is he, in heaven or hell?”
“How in blazes should I know? I’m no priest. I didn’t even know the man.”
“What do you think, Percy?” said Florilyn, turning and staring across the table with large, inquiring, devilish eyes. “You’re the son of a minister. You probably know all about such things.”
Taken by surprise, Percy had no leisure to prepare himself for suddenly finding himself on the spot.
Glad to be off it himself, this time his uncle did not rescue him.
“What do I think about what?” he said.
“Whether the dead man will go to heaven or hell.”
“I would say the same thing as Uncle Roderick—how should I know? I suppose it would depend on what he believed.”
“Do
you
think there’s a heaven and hell, Percy?” she asked, blinking her large eyes playfully several times with feigned sincerity.
“I don’t know. I suppose I don’t really know what I believe.”
“Doesn’t Uncle Edward preach about heaven and hell all the time?”
The question took Percy off guard. He found himself thinking a moment. “Actually,” he said slowly, “now that you mention it … no, he really doesn’t. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him preach a sermon about heaven and hell.”
“What does he preach about then?”
“I don’t know … doing good, being nice … He’s always talking about doing what Jesus said. That’s one of his favorite phrases.”
“What does that mean? How can anyone do what Jesus said?” laughed Florilyn. “Why would anyone even want to?”
“I don’t know,” replied Percy a little testily. “I’m not claiming to know what it means. I’m just telling you what he says, that’s all.”
He suddenly found himself in the uncomfortably weird position of beginning to defend his father against his cousin’s nettlesome barbs. He didn’t like it. He had no interest in pursuing this line of conversation or being on the receiving end of his cousin’s irksome interrogation.
Without planning it, he turned to Florilyn’s brother at his right. “Who’s the chap you went hunting with?” he asked.
“Colville?” said Courtnenay. “He’s our neighbor.”
“Colville Burrenchobay,” added the viscount, relieved to have the opportunity to wrest the conversation away from his daughter. “His father owns the land adjacent to mine, northward.”
“I saw what looked like a castle when I was riding,” said Percy, “about two miles away, I would say.”
“That’s it.” His uncle laughed. “Burrenchobay Hall. Hardly a castle, but an imposing edifice indeed. Colville’s a year older than Courtenay. His father represents Gwynedd in parliament. But we try to forgive Trevelyan his odd politics. The boys grew up together. I doubt there’s a square inch between Blanau Ffestiniog and Barmouth you two lads haven’t explored together, wouldn’t you say, Courtenay?”
Courtnenay nodded.
“Well, if you’re the horseman Florilyn seems to think, Percy my boy,” the viscount went on, “I’m sure you will learn your way around the hills in no time. No better place in all the world to ride.”
“I ran into a fellow today with a flock of sheep,” said Percy. “But the horse didn’t seem to mind them.”
“You’ll find sheep everywhere in the fields and hills,” rejoined his uncle. “The horses ignore them. Who was he—did he tell you his name?”
“Yes … uh, let me see—Stevie … something like that, I think.”
“That’s Stevie Muir,” said Florilyn. “A big, ugly oaf if you ask me.”
“He
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