"Have ye been breathing a prayer over your rosy infant's slumbers, Tom?"
asks Mr. Binnie.
"And if I have, James Binnie," the Colonel said gravely, and his sallow
face blushing somewhat, "if I have, I hope I've done no harm. The last
time I saw him asleep was nine years ago, a sickly little pale-faced boy
in his little cot, and now, sir, that I see him again, strong and
handsome, and all that a fond father can wish to see a boy, I should be
an ungrateful villain, James, if I didn't--if I didn't do what you said
just now, and thank God Almighty for restoring him to me."
Binnie did not laugh any more. "By George, Tom Newcome," said he, "you're
just one of the saints of the earth. If all men were like you there'd be
an end of both our trades; there would be no fighting and no soldiering,
no rogues and no magistrates to catch them." The Colonel wondered at his
friend's enthusiasm, who was not used to be complimentary; indeed what so
usual with him as that simple act of gratitude and devotion about which
his comrade spoke to him? To ask a blessing for his boy was as natural to
him as to wake with the sunrise, or to go to rest when the day was over.
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