But Cousin came out of the room and said, 'Andrew has
cast his burden on the Lord.' He said it as if he was saying, 'Andrew
has sneezed, or put some coal on the fire'--the most ordinary way you
can imagine. And that was the end of whisky for father. After that he
tried to make everyone he knew cast their burden on the Lord. I rather
felt like laughing at the time. It seemed rather silly, and just a bit
vulgar--most religion is, isn't it? But since I've been worrying myself
to death about you I've understood all about poor father."
"I don't see it," he said hopelessly.
"Listen. Until father gave up trying himself and realized that he was
weak, he was--was--sort of hiding the ulcer with a bunch of ribbons. But
the minute he gave up, everything was different. He didn't say any more,
'I'm Andrew Lashcairn, the son of generations of drunkards and madmen.'
He changed it and said, 'I'm God's man--I've given Him my homage and
made Him the Captain of my life.' And then, don't you see, he stopped
being shut in inside himself any longer. He began to love me and be
gentle to me. Louis, do you know, I believe you're tackling this worry
in the wrong way. It can't be right--being rude to me, growling all the
time about your father and mother--thinking, thinking, thinking all the
time about yourself and your weakness until the whole universe is
yourself and your weakness.
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