III
F
rom
now on father’s powers began to decline. Although only in his middle fifties, he had the walk and appearance of an old man and now his mind began to wander. He would sit for an hour at a stretch just staring at a book, never turning over the pages or even noticing if one went and sat beside him.
One day he came in from the town with a shell that he had had carved in memory of Enoch. It was a big pink shell, rather like a cowrie, and the carver had worked on it so that the letters stood up white against the shiny pinkness of the shell somewhat in the manner of a cameo. The words on the shell were:
“enoch fisher, born March 12th, 1867. Taken to God on September 15th, 1881. Believe in Me and I will stretch out My hand to succour ye, though fire should burn and the floods roar.
