Tom was seated in a chair in his yard under a big cedar, working on a basket, and a little golden-haired girl was playing at his feet. It was his old home he had lost in Legree’s day, but had got back through the help of General Worth, who came up one day and paid back Tom’s gift of lightwood in gleaming yellow metal. His long hair and full beard were white now, and his eyes had a soft deep look that told of sorrows borne in patience and faith beyond the ken of the younger man. It was this look on Tom’s face that held Gaston like a magnet when he was in trouble.
“Tom, I’m blue and heartsick. I’ve come down to have you cheer me up a little.”
“You’ve got the blues? Well that is a joke!” cried Tom. “You, young and handsome, the best educated man in the county, the finest orator in the state, life all before you, and God fillin’ the world to-day with sunshine and spring flowers, and all for you! You blue! That is a joke.” And Tom’s voice rang in hearty laughter.
“Come here, Flora, and kiss me, you won’t laugh at me, will you?”
The child climbed up into his lap, slipped her little arms around his neck and hugged and kissed him.
“Now, once more, dearie, long and close and hard—oh! That’s worth a pound of candy!” Again she squeezed his neck and kissed him, looking into his face with a smile.
“I love you, Charlie,” she said with quaint seriousness.
“Do you, dear? Well, that makes me glad. If I can win the love of as pretty a little girl as you I’m not a failure, am I?” And he smoothed her curls.
“Ain’t she sweet?” cried Tom with pride as he laid aside his basket and looked at her with moistened eyes.
“Tom, she’s the sweetest child I ever saw.”