“De Lord know what’s in my heart, but I can’t speak it out no way,” he said, as he received it, drawing his rough coat-sleeve across his eyes; “but, Missy, I t’ink it a great t’ing to be de Lord’s little messenger to bring His word to his poor ole servant, what been thirstin’ for it so long.”
Belle had wakened while Bessie was reading, and sat up rather surprised at her little friend’s occupation, but did not interrupt it.
“It’s just like my dear Bessie,” she said to herself; “she’s always doing somefin’ for somebody.”
She looked about her as she listened to the reading; for every word came distinctly in the deep stillness around. Maggie was asleep still, and Mr. Travers’ eyes remained closed; but as Belle watched his face she said to herself,—
“I guess he’s just pretending. If he was papa, I’d go and wake him up, and tell him he is. Maybe he finks Bessie would be too bashful to read before him if she fought he was awake.”
Perhaps Belle was right; for Mr. Travers woke or seemed to wake very suddenly when Bessie ceased reading; and, looking at his watch, said that it was time for the train, and they must rouse the sleeping Maggie. This was done; and Maggie woke rather indignant at herself for going to sleep at all, and a little ashamed at finding all the others awake before her.
“Why! Did you put that there, sir?” she asked, as Mr. Travers picked up the hat which had proved such a comfortable pillow, and put it on his head.
“Yes,” he answered, “I thought the tree rather a hard resting-place for that little head in spite of the mass of curls which came between them, so when I saw it going down I popped in the ‘bad hat’ without your knowing it.”
“I’m very much obliged to you, sir,” said Maggie. “I wish I could do something for you.”