"
The boy trembled, drew a step away, and then came back, and under
those hot Florida skies, in the turmoil of departing troops, I
heard these words:
"Because I heard what she said to Jim."
I felt my heart go down, then up, up, beyond anything I had ever
experienced in my whole life. The way before me was not closed
then. A witness yet remained, though Jim was dead. The boy was
oblivious of my emotion; he was staring with great mournfulness
t the tent.
"And what was that?" said I.
His attention, which had been wandering, came back, and it was
with some surprise he said:
"It was not much. She told him to take the gentleman into the
library. But it was the library where men died, and he just went
and died there, too, you remember, and Jim said he wasn't ever going
to speak of it, and so I promised not to, neither, but - but - when
do you think you will be starting, sir?"
I did not answer him. I was feeling very queer, as men feel, I
suppose, who in some crisis or event recognize an unexpected
interposition of Providence.
"Are you the boy who ran away from the florist's in Washington?"
I inquired when ready to speak. "The boy who delivered Miss Moore's
bridal bouquet?"
"Yes, sir."
I let go of his hand and sat down. Surely there was a power greater
than chance governing this matter.
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