"Because I've seen it often and often. Sometimes I think it is whiter than mine. I now and then feel so desperate and wicked, that I am afraid of myself."
"Dere now, you'se worried and worn-out and you tinks dat's bein' wicked."
"No. I'm satisfied it is something worse than that. I wonder if God does care about people who are in trouble, I mean practically, so as to help them any?"
"Well, I specs he does," said Hannibal vaguely. "But den dere's so many in trouble dat I'm afeard some hab to kinder look after demselves." Then as if a bright thought struck him, he added, "I specs he sorter lumps 'em jes as Massa Allen did when he said he was sorry for de people burned up in Chicago. He sent 'em a big lot ob money and den seemed to forget all about 'em."
Hannibal had never given much attention to religion, and perhaps was not the best authority that Edith could have consulted. But his conclusion seemed to secure her consent, for she leaned back wearily and again closed her eyes, saying:
"Yes, we are mere human atoms, lost sight of in the multitude."
Soon her deep regular breathing showed that she was asleep, and
Hannibal muttered softly:
"Bress de child, dat will do her a heap more good dan askin' dem deep questions," and he watched beside her like a large faithful Newfoundland dog.
At last he touched her elbow and said, "We get off at de next landin', and I guess we mus' be pretty nigh dere."
Edith started up much refreshed and asked, "What sort of an evening is it?"