“I am sorry to say, lad, that I never gave much thought to Him. My mother used to tell me about God when I was a little chap, but I’ve spent most of my life away from churches, and I don’t know much about anything but this earth.”
“Surely you believe there is a God, Mr. Brush?”
“Yes, Tom, but I don’t feel as if I had much to do with Him. If you think He will help us, just ask Him.”
“I have been asking him in my own thoughts,” said Tom, “and I have a feeling that somehow help will come to us.”
“We stand in precious need of help from some quarter. I wish I could make out the Indian palaver.”
“We shall know in due time, friend Brush,” said Lycurgus Spooner; “perhaps sooner than we care to.”
“Do you think they will do anything to us to-night, Dr. Spooner?” asked Tom.
“No; such is not their custom. They have had their council. They will do nothing till the night is over. We shall be allowed a good night’s sleep.”
“I don’t expect to sleep a wink all night,” said Peter Brush, in a lugubrious tone. “I shall be thinking all the while how it feels to be scalped.”
“That won’t tend to make your dreams pleasant, friend Brush. My advice is, that whatever is to come, you try to sleep well. It will strengthen you, either to devise means of escape, or, if need be, to meet your fate.”