Boards
had been placed across it for the convenience of the framers, and on
these Jim threw his blankets. Under the little package that was to serve
as his pillow he laid his Bible, and then, with his eyes upon the stars,
his heart tender with the thoughts of the woman for whom he was rearing
a home, and his mind oppressed with the greatness of his undertaking, he
lay a long time in a waking dream. "If so be He cares," said Jim to
himself--"if so be He cares for a little buildin' as don't make no show
'longside o' His doin's up thar an' down here, I hope He sees that I've
got this Bible under my head, an' knows what I mean by it. I hope the
thing'll strike 'im favorable, an' that He knows, if He cares, that I'm
obleeged to 'im."
At last, slumber came to Jim--the slumber of the toiler, and early the
next morning he was busy in feeding his helpers, who had a long day's
walk before them. When, at last, they were all ferried over the river,
and had started on their homeward way, Jim ascended to the cupola again,
and waved his bandanna in farewell.
Two days afterward, Sam Yates left his host, and rowed himself down to
the landing in the same canoe by which he had reached Number Nine.
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