“They drew nigh to a very miry slough, that was in the midst of the plain; and they being heedless, did both fall suddenly into the bog. The name of the slough was Despond.”—_Pilgrim’s Progress._
Evening had closed in with rain and storm, and all the children had returned to the cottage of their mother. A dirty, uncomfortable abode it looked, most unlike those beautiful little homes of the peasant which we see so often in dear old England, with the ivy-covered porch, and the clean-washed floor, the kettle singing merrily above the cheerful fire, the neat rows of plates ranged on the shelf, the prints upon the wall, and the large Bible in the corner.
No; this was a cheerless-looking place, quite as much from idleness and neglect as from poverty. The holes in the window were stuffed with rags, the little garden in front held nothing but weeds, the brick floor appeared as though it had never been clean, and everything lay about in confusion. An untidy-looking woman, with her shoes down at heel, and her hair hanging loose about her ears, had placed the evening meal on the table; and round it now sat the four children, busy with their supper, but not so busy as to prevent a constant buzz of talking from going on all the time that they ate.
“I say, Mark,” cried Jack, “what did the parson pay you for listening to him for an hour?”
“How much did you get out of him?” said Madge.
“Any money?” asked Ann Dowley, looking up eagerly.
“I daresay that you might have got more,” said Ben.
“Not food, nor clothes, but good words, which were better to me than gold.”
This announcement was received with a roar of laughter, which did not, however, disconcert Mark.
“Look you,” he said, as soon as they were sufficiently quiet to hear him, “look you if what I said be not true. You only care for things that belong to this life, but it is no more to be compared to the life that is to come than a candle to the sun, or a leaf to the forest! Why, where shall we all be a hundred years hence?”
“That is only our bodies—our poor, weak bodies; but our souls, that think, and hope, and fear, where will they be then?”
“We don’t want to look on so far,” observed Jack.
“But it may not be far,” exclaimed Mark. “Thousands of children die younger than we, there are many, many small graves in the churchyard; death may be near to us, it may be close at hand, and _where will our souls be then_?”