THE STEADFAST HEART
to remember him, to recognize him, to take him again into their hearts, but he could not ask it—the boon must come from them…. Bishwhang looked up from his work, stared, caught some familiar gesture or expression, and his chin dropped, his mouth opened wide…. Then, suddenly, he dropped his stick and bellowed, “It’s Angus!… Jake, it’s Angus!”
Whereat he rushed forward, grimy face working, eyelids blinking back tears of welcome. Blubbering he snatched at Angus’s hand, shook it, squeezed it, mumbling incoherent words of gladness.
“It’s Angus…. Angus hisself…. It’s Angus come back again. Jake, Jake, it’s Angus!”
Jake laid down his mallet and walked forward, rubbing his cracked and grimy hands on his trousers, scowling horribly, forbiddingly the while. Roughly he shouldered Bishwhang aside and, thrusting his face close to Angus’s, stared at him with terrifying belligerence. Then, of a sudden, he put a great paw on each of the boy’s shoulders and shook him, shook him until his teeth rattled, then releasing him, whirled him half around and smote him resoundingly on the back. “Hell’s bells!…” he said, “Hell’s bells!” Speech had all but forsaken him. Again he scrutinized Angus’s face.
“I knowed it,” he roared. “Didn’t I see it in
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