“I wouldn’t have minded dying for her,” said Beanie simply.
“Well,” I said, “it takes all kinds of dogs to fit the different kinds of owners,” and I ran to my own dear friend who was saying good-bye to Ellen in a depressed fashion.
Evidently he had been telling her that the blessing she had promised him had been changed into something else, for she was saying earnestly, “Sometimes the wheels of the Lord’s chariot run slow, dear Sir, sometimes fast, but dey always roll. Dey never stand still. You jes’ wait an’ hope. I feel as if somethin’ great was jes’ a-hangin’ over you now.”
Master raised his hand, and a soft light fell on his handsome face from Ellen’s single, dim gas jet—That’s another thing poor people don’t have enough of—good light.
“Ellen,” he said, “if it ever does come, I’ll remember you.”
He talked to himself a good deal, when we started on our way home. We were taking our usual route now—that is, through Morningside Park which we climbed just under Cathedral Heights. We were getting home much earlier than usual, and there was an evening service just closing in the huge church which dominates this part of the city.
As we took the path which winds round the back of it, where the workmen chip the stone all day, and will for many days to come (for it will take years to finish the structure) an exquisite sound floated out on the night air.
Through some unfinished part of the building, this boy’s voice reached us—so clear, and sweet and promising. It soared by us, and right up to the stars.
Master started, looked at first disturbed, then comforted. He stopped short, gave one backward glance at the vast tract of brightly lighted city seen from this eminence, then walked quickly toward a side door of the cathedral, near one of the exquisite little chapels.
I had often been here before with him, but always in the daytime, and he had made me wait for him outside, hidden behind some of the big blocks of stone.