Jeremylistened，andgraduallytheregrewbeforehiseyesthefigureofastrangeandterribleGod。Thiswasnonewfigure。HehadneverthoughtdirectlyaboutGod，butforaverylongtimenowhehadhadHiminthebackgroundofhislifeasPolchesterTownHallwasinthebackground。ButnowhedefinitelyandactivelyfiguredtohimselfthisGod，thisGodWhowastakinghismotherawayandwasintendingapparentlytoputherintosomedarkplacewhereshewouldknownobody。Itmustbesomehorribleplace，becausehisfatherlookedsofrightened，whichhewouldnotlookifhismotherwassimplygoing，withagoldenharp，tosinghymns。JeremyhadalwaysheardthatthisGodwaslovingandkindandtender，butthefigurewhomhisfatherwasnowdrawingforthebenefitofthecongregationwasnoneofthesethings。
　　Mr。ColespokeofaGodjustandterrible，butaGodWhoapparentlyforthemerestfancyputHisfaithfulservanttoterribleanguishanddistress，andthenforanotherfancy，aslightasthefirst，sparedhimhissorrow。Mr。Coleemphasisedthenecessityforobedience，theneedforawillingsurrenderofanythingthatmaybedeartous，“becausetheloveofGodmustbegreaterthananythingthatholdsushereonearth。“ButJeremydidnotlistentotheseremarks；hismindwasfilledwiththispictureofavastshadowyfigure，seatedinthesky，hiswhitebeardflowingbeneatheyesthatfrownedfromdarkrockyeyebrowsoutuponpeoplelikeJeremywho，althoughdoingtheirbest，wereneverthelessatthemercyofanywhimthatHemighthave。Thisterriblefigurewastheauthorofthehotday，authorofthesilenthouseandtheshimmeringdarkenedchurch，authorofthedecisiontotakehismotherawayfromallthatshelovedandputhersomewherewhereshewouldbealoneandcoldandsilent——“simplybecauseHewishes……“
　　“Fromthisbeautifulpassage，“concludedMr。Cole，“welearnthatGodisjustandmerciful，butthatHedemandsourobedience。Wemustbereadyatanyinstanttogiveupwhatwelovemostandbest……“
　　Afterwardstheyalltroopedoutintothesplendidsunshine。
　　IV
　　TherewasahorribleSundaydinnerwhen——thesilenceandtheroastbeefandYorkshirepudding，andthedining-roomquiveringwithheat，emphasisedeveryminuteofthesolemntickingclock——Marysuddenlyburstintotears，chokedoveraglassofwater，andwasledfromtheroom。Jeremyatehisbeefandricepuddinginsilence，exceptthatonceortwiceinalow，hoarsevoicewhispered：“Passthemustard，please，“or“Passthesalt，please。“MissJones，watchinghiswhitefaceandthetrembleofhisupperlip，longedtosaysomethingtocomforthim，butwiselyheldherpeace。
　　AfterdinnerJeremycollectedHamletandwenttotheconservatory。
　　This，likesomanyotherEnglishconservatories，wasadesolateanddesperatelittleplace，whereboxesofsand，drycorded-lookingbulbs，andanunhappyplantortwolanguished，forgottenandforlorn。Ithadbeeninheritedwiththehousemanyyearsago，and，atfirst，theColeshadhadtheambitiontomakeitblazewithcolour，togrowtherethemostmarvellousgrapes，therichesttomatoes，andeven——althoughitwasalittleoutofplaceinthehouseofaclergymanoftheChurchofEngland——themostsinisteroforchids。Veryquicklythelittleconservatoryhadbeenabandoned；
　　theheatingapparatushadfailed，theplantshadrefusedtogrow，thetomatoesneverappeared，thebulbswouldnotburstintocolour。
　　ForJeremytheplacehadhadalwaysanindescribablefascination。
　　Whenhewasveryyoungtherehadbeenabsolutetrustthatthingswouldgrow；thateverykindofwondermightspringbeforeone’seyesatanymomentoftheday。Then，whennowondercame，therehadbeenthethrilloftheemptyboxesofearth；theprobingwithone’sfingerstoseewhatthefunny-lookingbulbswouldbe，andwatchingthefrondsofthepalevine。Afterwards，therewasanotherfascination——thefascinationofsomestrangeandsinisteratmospherethathewasmuchtooyoungtodefine。Theplace，heknew，wasdifferentfromtherestofthehouse。Itprojected，conventionallyenough，fromthedrawing-room；buttheheavydoorwiththickwindowsofredglassshutitofffromthewholeworld。ItsratherdirtyandobscurewindowslookedoverthesamecountrythatJeremy’sbedroomwindowcommanded。Italsocaughtallthesun，sothatinthesummeritwasterriblyhot。ButJeremylovedtheheat。HewasdiscoveredoncebythescandalisedJampotquitenakeddancingonthewoodenboards，hisfaceandhandsblackwithgrime。Noonecouldeverunderstand“whathesawinthedirtyplace，“andatonetimehehadbeenforbiddentogothere。Thenhehadcriedandstampedandshouted，sothathehadbeenallowedtoreturn。Amongstthethingsthathesawtherewerethereflectionsthattheoutsideworldmadeupontheglass；itwouldbestained，sometimes，withastrange，greenreflectionofthefieldsbeyondthewall；sometimesitwouldcatchtheblueofthesky，ortheredandgoldofthesettingsun；
　　sometimesitwouldbegreywithwavingshadowsacrossitssurface，asthoughonewereunderwater。Throughthedirtywindowsthecountry，onfinedays，shonelikedistanttapestry，andintheglassthatcoveredthefarthersideoftheplacestrangereflectionswerecaught：ofcows，horses，walls，andtrees——asthoughinakindofmagicmirror。
　　AnotherthingthatJeremyfeltthere，wasthathewasinaglasscageswingingoverthewholeworld。Ifoneshutone’seyesonecouldeasilyfancythatonewasswingingout——swinging——swinging，andthat，suddenlyperhaps，thecagewouldbedetachedfromthehouseandgosailing，likeamagiccarpet，toArabiaandPersia，andanywhereyoupleasedtocommand。
　　To-daytheglassburntlikefire，andthegreenfieldscamefloatinguptobotransfiguredtherelikerunningwater。Thehousewasutterlystill；theredglassdoorshutofftheworld。Jeremysat，hisarmstightlyroundHamlet’sneck，onthedirtyfloor，astrangemixtureofmisery，weariness，fright，andanger。Therewasalreadyinhimastrainofimpatience，sothathecouldnotbearsimplytositdownandbewailsomethingas，forinstance，bothhissistersweredoingatthismoment。Hemustact。Theycouldnotbohappywithouttheirmother；hehimselfwantedhersobadlythatevennow，thereintheflamingconservatory，ifhehadallowedhimselftodosuchathing，hewouldhavesatandcriedandcriedandcried。Buthewasnotgoingtocry。MaryandHelencouldcry——theyweregirls；
　　hewasgoingtodosomething。
　　Ashesatthere，gettinghotterandhotter，theregrew，largerandlargerbeforehiseyes，thefigureofTerribleGod。ThatimageofSomeoneofavastsizesittinginthered-hotsky，hiswhitebeardflowing，hiseyesfrowning，grewevermoreandmoreawful。Jeremystaredupintotheglass，hiseyesblinking，thesweatbeginningtopourdownhisnose，andyethisbodyshiveringwithterror。ButhehadstrunghimselfuptomeetHim。Somehowhewasgoingtosavehismotherandhinderherdeparture。Ataninstant，insidehim，hewascrying：“Iwantmymother！Iwantmymother！“likealittleboywhohadbeenleftinthestreet，andattheother，“Youshan’thaveher！
　　Youshan’thaveher！“asthoughsomeoneweretryingtostealhisToy-VillageorHamletawayfromhim。Hissleepy，bemused，heatedbrainwandered，indazedfashion，backtohisfather’ssermonofthatmorning。AbrahamandIsaac！AbrahamandIsaac！
　　AbrahamandIsaac！Suddenly，asthoughthroughtheflamingglasssomethinghadbeenflungtohim，anideacame。PerhapsGod，thathuge，uglyGodwasteasingtheColesjustasonceHehadteasedAbraham。PerhapsHewishedtoseewhethertheyweretrulyobedientastheJampothadsometimeswishedintheolddays。Hewasonly，itmightbe，pretending。PerhapsHewasdemandingthatoneofthemshouldgiveupsomething——somethingofgreatvalue。EvenJeremy，himself！……
　　Ifhehadtosacrificesomethingtosavehismother，whatwouldbethehardestsacrifice？WoulditbehisToy-Village，orMaryorHelen，orhissoldiers，orhispaint-box，orhisgoldfishthathehadinabowl，or——No，ofcourse，hehadknownfromthefirstwhatwouldbehardest——itwould，ofcourse，beHamlet。
　　AtthisstageinhisthinkingheremovedhisarmfromHamlet’sneckandlookedattheanimal。Atthesamemomentthelightthathadfilledtheglass-housewithafieryradiancethatburnttotheveryheartoftheplacewasclouded。Above，inthesky，black，smokyclouds，rollinginfoldafterfold，asthoughsomedemonwereflingingthemoutacrosstheskyasoneflingsacarpet，piledupandup，eachonedarkerthanthelast。Thelightvanished；theconservatorywasfilledwithathick，murkyglow，andfaracrossthefields，fromtheheartoftheblackwood，camethelowrumbleofthunder。ButJeremydidnothearthat；hewasbusywithhisthoughts。liestaredatthedog，whowaslyingstretchedoutonthedirtyfloor，hisnosebetweenhistoes。ItcannottruthfullybesaidthattheresolvethatwasforminginJeremy’sheadhaditsbirthinanyfine，nobleidealisms。Itwasasthoughsomebully，seizinghisbestmarbles，hadsaid：“I’llgiveyouthesebackifyouhandoverthisweek’spocket-money！“Hisattitudetothebullycouldnottruthfullybedescribedasoneofhomageorreverence；ratherwasitoneofangerandimpotentrebellion。
　　HelovedHamlet，andhelovedhismothermorethanHamlet；buthewasnotmovedbysentiment。Grimly，hislegsapart，hiseyesshuttight，astheywerewhenhesaidhisprayers，hemadehischallenge。
　　“I’llgiveyouHamletifyoudon’ttakeMother——“Apause。“OnlyI
　　can’tcutHamlet’sthroat。ButIcouldlosehim，ifthatwoulddo……Onlyyoumusttakehimnow——Icouldn’tdoitto-morrow。“Hisvoicebegantotremble。Hewasfrightened。Hecouldfeelbehindhisclosedeyesthatthedarknesshadgathered。Theplaceseemedtobefilledwithrollingsmoke，andthehousewassoterriblystill！
　　Hesaidagain：“YoucantakeHamlet。He’smybestthing。Youcan——
　　Youcan——“
　　Therefollowedthen，withthepromptitudeofamostadmirablymanagedtheatricalclimax，apealofthunderthatseemedtostrikethehousewiththeironhandofagiant。Twomorecame，andthen，forasecond，asilence，moredeadlythanalltheearlierhavoc。
　　JeremyfeltthatGodhadleaptuponhim。Heopenedhiseyes，turnedasthoughtorun，andthensaw，withafreezingcheckupontheverybeatofhisheart，thatHamletwasgone。
　　V
　　TherewasnoHamlet！
　　InthatsecondoffranticunreasoningterrorhereceivedaconvictionofGodthatnorationalistictraininginlateryearswasabletoremove。
　　TherewasnoHamlet！——onlytheduskydirtyplacewithablacktorrent-drivenworldbeyondit。Witharushasofathousandwhipsslashingtheair，theraincamedownupontheglass。Jeremyturned，crying“Mother！Mother！IwantMother！“andflunghimselfattheredglassdoors；fumblinginhisterrorforthehandle，hefeltasthoughtheendoftheworldhadcome；suchapanichadseizedhimasonlybelongstothemostdesperateofnightmares。Godhadansweredhim。HamletwasgoneandinamomentJeremyhimselfmightbeseized……
　　Hefeltfranticallyforthedoor；hebeatupontheglass。
　　Hecried“Mother！Mother！Mother！“
　　Hehadfoundthedoor，butjustasheturnedthehandlehewasawareofanewsound，hearddistantly，throughtherain。Lookingbackhesaw，frombehindarampartofdustyflower-pots，firstahead，thenaroughtousledbody，thenatailthatmightberecognisedamongstallthetailsofChristendom。
　　Hamletwhohadtrainedhimselftomeetwithafinenaturalshowofbraveryeverypossibleviolencesaveonlythundercreptashamed，dirtyandsmilingtowardshismaster。GodhadonlyplayedHistrick——
　　AbrahamandIsaacafterall。
　　ThenwithafinesenseofvictoryanddefianceJeremyturnedback，lookedupattheslashingrain，gazedoutupontheblackcountry，atlastseizedHamletanddragginghimoutbyhishind-legs，kneltthereinthedustandsufferedhimselftobelickeduntilhisfacewasasthoughasnailhadcrossedoverit。
　　Thethunderpassed。Bluepushedupintothegrey。Acoolairblewthroughtheworld。
　　Nevertheless，deepinhisheart，theterrorremained。InthatmomenthehadmetGodfacetoface；hehaddeliveredhisfirstchallenge。
　　P。S——TotheincredulousandcynicalofheartauthoritativeevidencecanbeshowntoprovethatitwasontheeveningofthatSundaythatMrs。Coleturnedthecornertowardsrecovery。
　　CHAPTERVIII
　　TOCOWFARM！