Stephen?
How were _these_ wrens guilty? And, anyway, how were the titlarks
guilty?" Young John reasoned it out in this simple fashion. He came
to the Main-Stone, and seating himself on the turf, leaned his back
against one of the blocks which support the huge monolith. He sat
there for a long while, puckering his brows, his gun idle beside him.
At last he said to himself, but firmly and aloud:
"Parson and the rest say 'tis true. But I can't believe it, and
something inside says 'tis wrong. . . . There! I won't shoot another
bird--and that settles it!"
"Halleluia!" said a tiny voice somewhere above him.
The voice, though' tiny, was shrill and positive. Young John
recognised, and yet did not recognise it. He stared up at the wall
of the old mine-house from which it had seemed to speak, but he could
see no one. Next he thought that the word must have come from his
own heart, answering a sudden gush of warmth and happiness that set
his whole body glowing. It was as if winter had changed to summer,
within him and without, and all in a moment. He blinked in the
stronger sunshine, and felt it warm upon his eyelids.
"Halleluia!" said the voice again.
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