He alighted from his wagon and greeted Uncle John, busy with the writing of his blessings in the cool shade just outside the door.
“Good for you, Uncle John! Be a fountain of living waters to the thirsty in Zion. Say, who’s that?” and he pointed to Tom Potwin who had been wistfully watching the pen of the Patriarch as it ran over his paper. Uncle John regarded the Bishop shrewdly.
“You ought to know, Brother Snow. ’Tain’t so long since you and him were together.”
The Bishop looked closely again, and the boy now returned his gaze with his own weakly foolish look.
“Well! If it ain’t that Tom Potwin. The Lord certainly hardened his heart against counsel to his own undoing. I tried every way in the world—say, what’s he doing here?”
“Oh, Brother Rae has given him a home here along with that first woman of Brother Tench’s. The crazy loon has been bothering me all week to give him a blessing.”
The Entablature of Truth chuckled, being not without a sense of humour.
“Well, say, give him one if he wants it. Here—here’s your two dollars—write him a good one now.”
Uncle John took the money, and at once began writing upon a clean sheet of paper. The boy stood by watching him eagerly, and when the Patriarch had finished the document took it from him with trembling hands. The Bishop spoke to him.
“Here, boy, let’s see what Uncle John gives us for our money.”