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 "God! I'm frightened, Blair!" says he … "Boys, you know I never whined. … Where's the hope for one like me? I ain't no hymn-singin' kind." There was pleadin' in his glance: "Blair," he says, "is there a chance?"

Old Bob Blair reached for his hand. "Chance there is, an' certainty. Try to think an' understand. Nothin's There to fear," says he. "Him, the Merciful, the Mild, Think ye He would strike a child?

"Think ye that He put you here. Gave you labour, gave you pain. So your end should be a fear That you plead to Him in vain? Nay, dear laddie, while you've breath. Live in hope, an' smile on death."

With a hard hand, woman-kind. He pushed back the sweaty hair. "Now then, laddie, ease your mind. Pain will end for you out There. . An' the smile on Blair's rough face Was a blessin' an' a grace.