The Rainbow

"An Angel's got to be more than a human being," he continued.

"So I say, an Angel is the soul of man and woman in one: they

rise united at the Judgment Day, as one Angel----"

"Praising the Lord," said Frank.

"Praising the Lord," repeated Tom.

"And what about the women left over?" asked Alfred, jeering.

The company was getting uneasy.

"That I can't tell. How do I know as there is anybody left

over at the Judgment Day? Let that be. What I say is, that when

a man's soul and a woman's soul unites together--that makes

an Angel----"

"I dunno about souls. I know as one plus one makes three,

sometimes," said Frank. But he had the laugh to himself.

"Bodies and souls, it's the same," said Tom.

"And what about your missis, who was married afore you knew

her?" asked Alfred, set on edge by this discourse.

"That I can't tell you. If I am to become an Angel, it'll be

my married soul, and not my single soul. It'll not be the soul

of me when I was a lad: for I hadn't a soul as would make

an Angel then."

"I can always remember," said Frank's wife, "when our Harold

was bad, he did nothink but see an angel at th' back o' th'

lookin'-glass. 'Look, mother,' 'e said, 'at that angel!' 'Theer

isn't no angel, my duck,' I said, but he wouldn't have it. I

took th' lookin'-glass off'n th' dressin'-table, but it made no

difference. He kep' on sayin' it was there. My word, it did give

me a turn. I thought for sure as I'd lost him."

"I can remember," said another man, Tom's sister's husband,

"my mother gave me a good hidin' once, for sayin' I'd got an

angel up my nose. She seed me pokin', an' she said: 'What are

you pokin' at your nose for-give over.' 'There's an angel up

it,' I said, an' she fetched me such a wipe. But there was. We

used to call them thistle things 'angels' as wafts about. An'

I'd pushed one o' these up my nose, for some reason or

other."

"It's wonderful what children will get up their noses," said

Frank's wife. "I c'n remember our Hemmie, she shoved one o' them

bluebell things out o' th' middle of a bluebell, what they call

'candles', up her nose, and oh, we had some work! I'd seen her

stickin' 'em on the end of her nose, like, but I never thought

she'd be so soft as to shove it right up. She was a gel of eight

or more. Oh, my word, we got a crochet-hook an' I don't know

what ..."

Tom Brangwen's mood of inspiration began to pass away. He

forgot all about it, and was soon roaring and shouting with the

rest. Outside the wake came, singing the carols. They were

invited into the bursting house. They had two fiddles and a

piccolo. There in the parlour they played carols, and the whole

company sang them at the top of its voice. Only the bride and

bridegroom sat with shining eyes and strange, bright faces, and

scarcely sang, or only with just moving lips.