The dirty old black hand clasped the tender little white one, which nestled into it gratefully. What it meant at that awful time not to be alone,—to feel a human touch, to know that a human heart beat beside you,—one would have to be in the child's place to understand.
II.
THE two ran, plunging up the distorted track which swelled and shook beneath them, toward the coming train. As they came abreast of the second little station, known as the West End station of Summerville, an idea shot like hope itself through the confused brain of the hurrying boy.
"I know where the torpedoes are!" he cried, shrilly. "The torpedoes they put down to stop trains! I've seen 'em. I play with the superintendent's boys sometimes. If I was bigger I could bu'st open the doors and windows and find 'em."
"I'se an ole man," shouted the Negro, "but I'se been a tough one befo' Freedom. I sole for two thousand dollars onct. I kin smash 'most anythin' yer give me, honey, if hi'm put to 't. If der's anythin' wantin' to be bu'sted to stop dat ar train, I reckon I kin bu'st."
"I SOLE FOR TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS ONCT."