“He knew Corry was sick and faint when he went out. He’d have got back afore now if his strength hadn’t failed him; though, maybe, he didn’t think of death. Whist, then, whist, then, Dor,” she added, to the boy.
“Don’t cry,” said Tod to the little chap, who had the largest, brightest eyes I ever saw. “That will do no good, you know.”
“I want Corry,” said he. “Where’s Corry gone?”
“She’s gone up to God,” answered Tod, speaking very gently. “She’s gone to be a bright angel with Him in heaven.”
“Will she fly down to me?” asked Dor, his great eyes shining through their tears at Tod.
“Yes,” affirmed Tod, who had a theory of his own on the point, and used to think, when a little boy, that his mother was always near him, one of God’s angels keeping him from harm. “And after a while, you know, if you are good, you’ll go to Corry, and be an angel, too.”
“God bless you, master!” interposed the woman. “He’ll think of that always.”
“Tod,” I said, as we went out of the tent, “I don’t think they are people to steal children.”
“Who’s to know what the man would do?” retorted Tod.