"I must see him," said his father. "You've been very kind to my boy," he added gratefully to the saw-miller.
The big man laid his hand on Cyril's head as he sat beside him. "I would give half of all that I possess," he said to Mr. Morton, "to have a boy like him. My wife and infant son died thirteen years ago," he added rather huskily.
Mr. Ellison grasped his hand. "I have lost Cyril's mother too, for a time," he said very softly.
"A time? What do you mean?"
"Please God, we shall meet again in a better world," replied Mr. Morton in low tones full of deep feeling.
"Ah, you are a happy man!" said the saw-miller, so low that no one else could hear. "It's all plain sailing with you. You'll get to heaven, I've no doubt. But with me it's very different. It's a rough life this of mine, trying to wrest a living out of the heart of the forest, far from any help of religion or even civilisation; I try to keep straight, but——"
"I know you do," exclaimed Mr. Morton. "You've been so good to my boy. You know our Lord's words, 'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye have done it unto Me.'"
The saw-miller's eyes filled with tears of surprise and joy; he brushed his hand across them hastily lest they should be seen. At heart he was a very humble man, although he had to appear stern and proud to the men, who, generally, obeyed him as if he were a sort of king over them.
"And you are not really alone," continued Mr. Morton, still speaking in the low tones which could not be heard by the others at the table. "Although you have no outside spiritual aids, no place of worship, and no clergyman, you have the promise, 'Lo, I am with you always.'"
"But was that meant for me?" asked the saw-miller. "I always thought that was only meant for the parsons."