here
was somethin' in religion. You never knew half what she did for you,
Moses Pennel, you didn't know that the night you was off down to the
long cove with Skipper Atkinson, that 'ere blessed child was a-follerin'
you, but she was, and she come to me next day to get me to do somethin'
for you. That was how your grand'ther and I got ye off to sea so quick,
and she such a little thing then; that ar child was the savin' of ye,
Moses Pennel."

Moses hid his head in his hands with a sort of groan.

"Wal', wal'," said the Captain, "I don't wonder now ye feel so,--I don't
see how ye can stan' it no ways--only by thinkin' o' where she's goin'
to--Them ar bells in the Celestial City must all be a-ringin' for
her,--there'll be joy that side o' the river I reckon, when she gets
acrost. If she'd jest leave me a hem o' her garment to get in by, I'd be
glad; but she was one o' the sort that was jest _made_ to go to heaven.
She only stopped a few days in our world, like the robins when they's
goin' south; but there'll be a good many fust and last that'll get into
the kingdom for love of her. She never said much to me, but she kind o'
drew me. Ef ever I should get in there, it'll be _she_ led me. But come,
now, Moses, ye oughtn't fur to be a-settin' here catchin' cold--jest
come round to our house and let Sally gin you a warm cup o' tea--do
come, now."

"Thank you, Captain," said Moses, "but I will go home; I must see her
again to-night."

"Wal', don't let her see you grieve too much, ye know; we must be a
little sort o' manly, ye know, 'cause her body's weak, if her heart is
strong."

Now Moses was in a mood of dry, proud, fierce, self-consuming sorrow,
least likely to open his heart or seek sympathy from any one; and no
friend or acquaintance would probably have dared to intrude on his
grief. But there are moods of the mind which cannot be touched or
handled by one on an equal level with us that yield at once to the
sympathy of something below. A dog who comes with his great honest,
sorrowful face and lays his mute paw of inquiry on your knee, will
sometimes open floodgates of sober feeling, that have remained closed to
every human touch;--the dumb simplicity and ignorance of his sympathy
makes it irresistible. In like manner the downright grief of the
good-natured old Captain, and the child-like ignorance with which he
ventured upon a ministry of consolation from which a more cultivated
person would have shrunk away, were i