Shiloh was his pet—his baby. All the affection of his strong nature found its outlet in this little soul—this motherless little waif, who likewise found in the old man that rare comradeship of extremes—the inexplicable law of the physical world which brings the snow-flower in winter. The one real serious quarrel the old man had had with his stubborn and ignorant old wife had been when Shiloh was sent to the factory. But it was always starvation times with them; and when aroused, the temper and tongue of Mrs. Watts was more than the peaceful old man could stand up against. And as there were a dozen other tots of her age in the factory, he had been forced to acquiesce.
Long after all others had retired—long after the evening star had arisen, and now, high overhead, looked down through the chinks in the roof of the cabin on the mountain side, saying it was midnight and past, the patient old man sat with Shiloh on his lap, watching her quick, restless breathing, and fearing to put her to bed, lest he might awaken her.
He put her in bed at last and then slipped into Captain Tom's cabin before he himself lay down.
To his surprise he was up and reading an old dictionary—studying and puzzling over the words. It was the only book except the Bible the Bishop had in his cabin, and this book proved to be Captain Tom's solace.
After that, day after day, he would sit out under the oak tree by his cabin intently reading the dictionary.
Eph, his body servant, slept on the floor by his side, and Jack Bracken sat near him like a sturdy mastiff guarding a child. Sympathy, pity—were written in the outlaw's face, as he looked at the once splendid manhood shorn of its strength, and from that day Jack Bracken showered on Captain Tom all the affection of his generous soul—all that would have gone to little Jack.
“For he's but a child—the same as little Jack was,” he would say.
“Put up yo' novel, Cap'n Tom,” said the old man cheerily, when he went in, “an' let's have prayers.”
The sound of the old man's voice was soothing to Captain Tom. Quickly the book was closed and down on their knees went the three men.
It was a queer trio—the three kneeling in prayer.