“Now, cap’n, fergib de ole man fer sayin’ you all wrong.  Haint young mistis been breakin’ her lil gyurlish heart ober yo’ trouble?  Am de Lawd dat die fer us wuss’n a graven himage?  Doan He feel fer you mo’n we kin?  I reck’n you got des de bes’ kin’ of prep’ration ter go ter ’Im.  You got trouble.  How He act toward folks dat hab trouble—­ ev’y kin’ ob trouble?  Marse cap’n, I des knows dat de Lawd wanter brung you en yo’ wife en dat lil Sadie I year you talk ’bout all togeder whar He is.  I des knows hit.  Hit’s ’spearance.”

“Miss Baron,” said the captain calmly, “Isn’t it wonderful?  This old slave says he knows what, if true, is worth more to me than all the accumulated wisdom of the world.  What do you think of it?”

“It seems as if it ought to be true,” she answered earnestly.  “I never so felt before that it ought to be true.  We never should have been born, or given such love as you have for your dear ones, if it isn’t true.  Oh, to be just snatched hopelessly away from such ties is horrible.  My whole soul revolts at it.”

“See here, uncle,” said the captain almost sternly, “I’m not going to groan, sigh, weep, and take on in any of your camp-meeting tactics.  I am before the last great enemy and I know how to meet him like a man and soldier, if not a Christian.  I’m willing to do anything not insincere or unmanly to meet my wife and children again.  If my thought and feeling for them at this time isn’t right, then I’ve been created wrong.”

“Marse cap’n, I’se seen de mos’ po’ful feelin’s en miseries ob de ‘victed ones vaperate lak de maunin’ dew en I’se larn in my ole age dat de sabin po’r ain’ in we uns, ner in any ting we is ob oursefs ner in w’at we po’ lil chil’n of yearth kin do.  De Lawd say, He come ter seek en sabe de loss; I wuz loss.  De wuss ting He enemies cud speak agin ’Im wuz, Dis man ’ceiveth sinners:  I wuz a sinner.  I des arst ‘Im ter sabe me, en He did.  I des trus’ ’Im fer life en death en does de bes’ I kin.  Dat’s all.  But hit’s ’spearance, marse cap’n, en I knows hit.  Now, marse cap’n, w’at fo’ you go way in the de dark, you dunno whar?  De bressed Lawd say, I go ter prepare a place fer you.  Now you des let young mistis write ter yo’ folks dat you gwine wid Jesus ter dat ar place en dat you gwine ter wait fer dem dar en welcome urn home bime by des lak dey wud welcome you home way up Norf.  Dat ud comf’t em a heap, en hit’s all true.  I knows hit.  Young mistis berry sens’ble w’en she say we neber orter be bawn ef hit ain’ true.”

The officer looked fixedly at the tearful, wrinkled face for a few moments and then said firmly, “I’ll soon find out if it’s true.  If I do this thing at all, I’ll do it in the only way I can.  Miss Baron, you may write to my wife that I accept her faith.  It’s much the same as Uncle Lusthah’s—­too simple and unphilosophical, I used to think; but it meets my need now.  I can’t deal even with God in any other way than