Lucky | Page 7

brow over which the short, brown
curls tumbled in a very becoming confusion. He had a merry hazel eye
and large, mobile lips forever threatening to smile, but seldom getting
beyond the threat. He carried a gun, game bag, and powder horn.
His name was George Fielding, but he was commonly called " Lucky,"
for it was his favorite boast that life for him was one jolly round of
gayety. He never undertook anything which he failed to accomplish,
was accustomed to the admiration which success and good looks are

sure to bring and was somewhat spoiled by always having had his own
way. He possessed one glaring fault, a strange, unconquerable
disposition to pervert the truth, to lie with so sober a front that even the
most penetrating reader of character would have sworn he spoke gospel
facts. His friends attributed it to a vivid imagination, and he was so
good natured withal, that his grave failing was in the main, over,
looked.
"Theology," he went on to explain to the two wondering innocents,
"that means the science of religion. The real thing and the science must
not be confounded. I know plenty of people who have theology by the
headful, without a speck of religion in their hearts. I knew a woman
once who could talk doctrine by the hour, tell you to a T how many
rods you'd strayed from the path of righteousness, had measured the
gate of heaven with a tape line, and knew how many steps exactly there
were to the golden stair. Why, any one would have supposed by the
way she talked that she had even tested the temperature of the river
Jordan. She always hollered in meeting. Young folks of the worldly
sort used to go for miles to hear her holler. And what do you suppose
she did, one day? She beat her horse to death for eating a turnip or two
out of her cart. She had theology. Now I'll tell you another story of a
woman who had religion. You couldn't have told she had anything by
her looks or conversation. People thought her very bad because she
never professed in public. But somehow, wherever a kind word or a
helping hand was needed that woman was there, first of all to put her
shoulder to the wheel. She gave all the cabbages and turnips she could
spare to the poor, and I've no doubt, would have gone hungry herself
rather than to see anyone suffer. She had a temper of her own too. Yet
when she felt cross and wicked, she never laid the blame at the poor,
much belied old devil's door, but took a good dose of herbs to tone up
her system, smiled and went on as before. When she died, her
neighbors shook their heads. She was such a good soul, it was too bad
she had never professed, they said. Then they sighed and agreed to
leave her in the hands of the the Lord, to dispose of according to His
own mercy, since they could not help themselves."
"Of course the Lord knew," said Lund gravely.

"That he did, my hearty! He knew!"
The young man was beginning to glow with his favorite theme.
"What brought sin into the world?" asked Nana. "Royster always says it
was women, when he's mad at Mis' Royster."
"There's another story only half told. My friend, the editor of the Elk
Bend Sharpshooter says the secret of good composition is in the
suggesting of more than you really say. Now, any thoughtful person
could plainly see that Adam's mouth was watering for that apple all the
while, but he didn't dare touch it. It was the same spirit which prompts
foolishly fond wives of to-day to sneak half the dainties from their own
plate to that of their husband, which made Eve pick the fruit. She just
couldn't bear to see his mouth water, and for that she's blamed to this
day. I always felt lenient towards Eve for another reason. She just gave
him plain unvarnished apple, fresh from the tree. If she'd gone and
pealed it, and mixed up some crust, and baked it, and come to her lord
and master with a specimen of young housekeeper's pie in her hand, I
wouldn't venture to take her part. Eve was more sensible than
ungrateful man gives her credit for."
"Mis' Roystcr says the devil is seekin' to devour all such youngsters as
me," suggested Nana.
"Pshaw! You're not at all suitable to the old fellow's taste."
"She said he'd roast me over a fire. Has he got a fire?"
"Yes, of course. Raw meat isn't good eating."
"Where do they get their kindlin's?"
"Why bless you, right here where we get ours. They know a