The negro understood these words, and put up his hands with a warning gesture.
"Hush!" said Mrs. Allen, sternly; "you know what the letter said."
"I forgot," returned the man, and he began uneasily biting his finger nails, to hide his confusion; but the nails proved very horny and tough, and he failed to get rid of much contrition in that way.
Paul made no answer to his question; he only retreated a little closer to Jube, and laid his head upon the negro's knee. The simple action wrung Mrs. Allen's heart with a new pang. Hard and severe as her nature was, it had become so softened under her grief that she was unusually observant, and touched by trifles which at another time would have passed by unheeded.
"I expect you're tired," said the officer, pointing his finger, with its dilapidated nail, at the boy; "you're tired now, aint you?"
"A little," said Paul, without raising his head. "Only very little."
Jube knew by the sorrowful voice that the child was thinking of his mother, and had been pained by the man's thoughtless question in regard to her. He attempted no consolation in words, but laid his great hand protectingly upon the boy's shoulder. The two crept a little closer to each other, feeling a sort of safety and comfort in that silent companionship.
"I expect they feel kinder cold," remarked the officer.
Mrs. Allen heard, and remembered that there was a fireplace in the chamber where she intended them to sleep. She went out into the wood house for pine knots to kindle a fire, but Paul had followed her with that solicitude to which she was so unaccustomed, and when he saw her errand, motioned Jube to follow.
"Jube very strong," he said; "carry me—carry wood—likes to do it too much."