CHAPTER XVI.
LOST FRIENDS.
"I NEVER knew nothing about it," Bud said, earnestly. "I never heard as anybody cared in particular what became of me, only so that I got out of folks' way and didn't bother."
"Why, Bud! have you never heard the minister urge you to give yourself to Jesus?"
But Bud shook his head energetically.
"No minister never spoke to me," he said. "I goes to church every once in a while, because I gets my work all done, and don't know what else to do. When the horses are gone, and the dog is gone, I'm awful lonesome up there," inclining his head toward the hill up which the Ansted horses were now speeding, "and the dog always goes to town to church, along with the horses, and so I went down here for company kind of; but the minister never said nothing to me. I've listened a good bit, off and on, because I felt lonesome, and did not know what else to do; but he never said nothing about me, nor told me a body cared. It was all for them other folks, that has homes and good clothes."
What a pitiful story was this, coming up from the depths of the great, lonesome heart, surrounded on every hand by nominal Christians! Claire could not keep the tears from her eyes, and dared not speak for a moment, her voice was so full of them.
"Did you never read any verses in the Bible?" she asked at last. "You can read, can't you?"
"Oh, yes'm, I can read. I learned how when I lived with Mr. Stokes, back there in the country. Little Jack, he showed me my letters, and my easy readings, and all, and I could read to him quite a bit. Jack wasn't but eight years old; but he was smart, and he was good, and he died." The lonely story ended with a sigh. There was evidently a memory of better times enjoyed in the dim past.
Claire questioned to get at the utmost of his knowledge: