"All children is alone," said he. "Their mothers doesn't think so; but
they is. They're alone--all alone. They got t' walk alone. How am I t'
help you, Dannie? What can I _do_ for you? Of all the wisdom I've
gathered I'd give you all an' go beggared, but you cannot take one
jot. You must walk alone; 'tis the way o' the world. An', Dannie,
could I say t' the evil that is abroad, 'Stand back! Make way! Leave
this child o' mine t' walk in holiness!' I would not speak the word.
'Twould be hard t' stand helpless while you was sore beset. I'm not
knowin' how I'd bear it. 'Twould hurt me, Dannie, God knows! But still
I'd have you walk where sin walks. 'Tis a man's path, an' I'd have you
take it, lad, like a man. I'd not have you come a milk-sop t' the
Gate. I'd have you come scathless, an that might be with honor; but
I'd have you come a man, scarred with a man's scars, an need be. You
walk alone, Dannie, God help you! in the world God made: I've no
knowledge o' your goings. You'll wander far on they small feet. God
grant you may walk manfully wherever they stray. I've no more t' hope
for than just only that."
"I'll try, sir," said I.
My uncle touched me again--moving nearer, now, that his hand might lie
upon me. "Dannie," he whispered, "if you must sin the sins of us--"
"Ay, sir?"
"They'll be some poor folk t' suffer. An' Dannie--"