ion
with the God he served.

"Ah, but!" says my uncle, "ye'll _surely_ come t' live along o' me!"

"No, no! I'll be livin' where I've always lived--with mother."

"Ye cannot live alone."

"Ay; but I'm able t' live alone--an' fish alone--like mother done."

"'Twas not her wish, child," says my uncle. "She'd have ye live along
o' me. 'Why, Judy,' she'd have ye know, 'do ye live along o' he. Do ye
trust, little maid,' she'd have ye t' know, 'that there ol' Nick Top.
He've a powerful bad look t' the eye in his head,' she'd say, 'an'
he've the name o' the devil; but Lord love ye!' she'd say, 'he've a
heart with room t' contain ye, an' a warm welcome t' dwell within.
He've took good care o' little ol' Dannie,' she'd say, 'an' he'll take
good care o' _you_. He'll never see ye hurt or wronged or misguided so
long as he lives. Not,' she'd say, 'that there damned ol' rascal!' An'
if ye come, Judy, dear," my uncle entreated, "I won't see ye
wronged--I won't!" My uncle's little eyes were overrunning now--the
little eyes he would not look into. The parson still paced the floor,
still unheeding, still muttering fervent prayer of some strange sort;
but my uncle, aged in sinful ways, was frankly crying. "Ye'll come,
Judy, will ye not?" he begged. "Along o' ol' Nick Top, who would not
see ye wronged? Ah, little girl!" he implored--and then her head fell
against him--"ye'll surely never doubt Nick Top. An' ye'll come t' he,
an' ye'll sort o' look after un, will ye not?--that poor ol' feller!"

Judith was sobbing on his breast.

"That poor, poor ol' feller!"

She wept the more bitterly.

"Poor little girl!" he crooned, patting her shoulder. "Ah, the poor
little girl!"

"I'll go!" cried Judith, in a passion of woe and gratitude. "I'll
go--an' trust an' love an' care for you!"

My uncle clasped her close. "'_The Lard is my shepherd,_'" says he,
looking up, God knows to what! his eyes streaming, "'_I shall not
want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside
the still waters._'" By the wind, by the breaking of the troubled sea,
the old man's voice was obscured. "'_Yea, though I walk through the
valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with
me: thy rod and thy staff they comfort me._'" Judith still sobbed,
uncomforted; my uncle stroked her hair--and again she broke into
passionate weeping. "'_Thou preparest a table before me in the
presence of my enemies: thou anointest my head with