"Forget you, Jube, I couldn't do it; never, never; when 'sleep, it will be Jube who stands by in the dreams that our lady will send. If I pray, I will ask her to bless Jube."
"Oh, little masser, how Jube's heart aches!"
"And mine, Jube. What shall I do, all alone?"
"Yes, little masser, who will wake you up in the morning and warm your hands in his?"
"No one," sobbed Paul—"no one ever will be good to me like you, Jube."
"And you'll want Jube?"
"Want you—oh, very much."
Jube gathered the little fellow to his bosom and cried over him in forlorn silence.
"Little masser?"
"Well, Jube?" was the mournful answer.