“I’m glad you don’t, Eben,” the rector interrupted. “But suppose we talk of something more cheerful.”
A long silence followed.
“Parson,” the old man at length said, “why don’t ye sleep?”
“On this narrow rock? I’d roll into the river.”
“I’ll watch ye. D’ye see that lone pine tree standin’ out o’ that charcoal clearin’ on top o’ the mo’ntain?” Huckin indicated the spot with his hand, and Dawson nodded. “Well, ’hen the moon gits over that tree I’ll wake ye up. Then I’ll sleep.”
The rector replied by rolling over on his back and watching the stars until his eyes closed. Soon the old man heard a soft, contented purring and he knew that for a time he was alone—at least till Bill Springle joined him. For a long while he sat in deep thought with his eyes fixed on the whirling waters below him. Suddenly he leaned over and peered into the face of the man sleeping at his side.
“Parson,” he said softly, “I guesst ye needn’t mind no more about that mule.”