ured again, in
diffidence. I did not mind (but would not tell him so); nay, so far
was I from any objection that I glowed with content in this assurance
of loving protection from the ills of the world. "No?" said he. "I'm
glad o' that: for I'm so wonderful old an' lonely, an' you're sort o'
all I got, Dannie, t' fondle. 'Tis pleasant t' touch a thing that's
young an' not yet smirched by sin an' trouble. 'Tis some sort o' cure
for the souls o' broken folk, I'm thinkin'. An' you don't mind? I'm
glad o' that. You're gettin' so wonderful old yourself, Dannie, that I
was a bit afeared. A baby yesterday an' a man the morrow! You're near
growed up. 'Leven year old!" with a wry smile, in which was no pride,
but only poignant regret. "You're near growed up." Presently he
withdrew a little. "Ay," said he, gently; "you is housed an' clad an'
fed. So much I've managed well enough." He paused--distraught, his
brows bent, his hand passing aimlessly over the scars and gray
stubble of his head. "You're happy, Dannie?" he asked, looking up.
"Come, now, is you sure? You'd not be makin' game o' the old man,
would you, Dannie? You'd not tell un you _was_ when you _wasn't_,
would you? Is you sure you're happy? An' you're glad, is you, t' be
livin' all alone at Twist Tickle with a ol' feller like Nick Top?"

"Wonderful happy, sir," I answered, used to the question, free and
prompt in response; "happy, sir--with you."

"An' you is sure?"

I was sure.

"I'm glad o' that," he continued, but with no relief of the anxious
gloom upon his face. "I'm glad you is comfortable an' happy. I 'low,"
said he, "that poor Tom Callaway would like t' get word of it. Poor
Tom! Poor ol' Tom! Lord love you, lad! he was your father: an' he
loved you well--all too well. I 'low he'd be wonderful _glad_ just t'
know that you was comfortable an' happy--an' good. You is good, isn't
you? Oh, I knows you is! An' I wisht Tom Callaway could know. I wisht
he could: for I 'low 'twould perk un up a bit, in the place he's to,
t' get wind of it that his little Dannie was happy with ol' Nick Top.
He've a good deal t' bear, I'm thinkin', where he's to; an' 'twould
give un something t' distract his mind if he knowed you was doin'
well. But, Dannie, lad," he pursued, with a lively little flash of
interest, "they's a queer thing about that. Now, lad, mark you! 'tis
easy enough t' send messages Aloft; but when it comes t' gettin' a
line or two o' comfort t' the poor damned folk