'Hardly; the storm has been too heavy. I suppose you know what day it
is?' continued the old man, peering up at his companion from under his
shaggy eyebrows.

'No; I have lost all reckonings of time and place.'

'Purposely?'

'Yes.'

'You are worse than I am, then; I keep a reckoning, although I do not
show it. To-day is Sunday, but Silver does not know it; all days are
alike to her. Silver has never heard of the Bible,' he added, slowly.

'Yes, she has, for I told her.'

'You told her!' cried old Fog, wringing his hands.

'Be quiet, or you will disturb those bandages again. I only asked her
if she had read the book, and she said no; that was all. But supposing
it had not been all, what then? Would it harm her to know of the
Bible?'

'It would harm her to lose faith in me.'

'Then why have you not told her yourself?'

'I left her to grow up as the flowers grow,' said old Fog, writhing on
his couch. 'Is she not pure and good? Ah, a thousand times more than
any church or school could make her!'