The Mercy of the Lord. Flora Annie Webster Steel

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       Flora Annie Webster Steel

      The Mercy of the Lord

      Published by Good Press, 2019

       [email protected]

      EAN 4064066140649

       THE MERCY OF THE LORD

       SALT DUTY

       I

       II

       THE WISDOM OF OUR LORD GANESH

       THE SON OF A KING

       I

       II

       III

       IV

       THE BIRTH OF FIRE

       THE GIFT OF BATTLE

       THE VALUE OF A VOTE

       A SKETCH FROM LIFE

       THE SALT OF THE EARTH

       AN APPRECIATED RUPEE

       THE LAKE OF HIGH HOPE

       RETAINING FEES

       HIS CHANCE

       THE FLATTERER FOR GAIN

       A MAIDEN'S PRAYER

       SILVER SPEECH AND GOLDEN SILENCE

       I

       SILVER SPEECH

       II

       GOLDEN SILENCE

       THE FOOTSTEPS OF A DOG

       THE FINDING OF PRIVATE FLANIGAN

       REX ET IMP

       I

       II

       THERE AROSE A MAN

       DRY GOODS

       THE REGENERATION OF DAISY BELL

       A SONG WITHOUT WORDS

       SEGREGATION

       SLAVE OF THE COURT

       Table of Contents

      "God movesn--a--mystere'ras way

       Iswon--derstuper--form."

      Craddock was polishing the brass of his safety valve and singing the while at high pressure between set teeth: his choice of a ditty determined by one of his transitory lapses into conventional righteousness. The cause of which in the present instance being an equally transient admiration for a good little Eurasian girl fresh from her convent.

      As the sun--which shines equally on the just and the unjust--flamed on his red face and glowed from his corn-coloured beard it seemed to me--waiting in the comparative coolth of the pointsman's mud-oven shelter till the one mail train of the day should appear and disappear, leaving the ribbon of rail which spanned the desert world to its horizon free for our passaging--that both he and his engine radiated heat: that they gave out--as the burning bush or the flaming swords of the paradise-protectors must have given out--a message of fiery warning that suited the words he sang:

      "Eplants 'isfootsteps--inthesea."

      Craddock punctuated the rhythm with an appropriate stop of shrill steam which ought to have startled me: but it did not, because my outward senses had suddenly become slaves to my memory. The desert was a garden full of cool fragrance which comes with the close of an Indian day, and the only sound to

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