It was dark when the heap of stones had been arranged in the form
of a low pyramid, but though he had not tasted food for twenty-four
hours, he lingered beside the grave, his head bent as if still
struggling with those unwonted memories of the long ago. At last,
as if forced by a mysterious power against which he could no longer
resist, he sank upon his knees.

"O God," he prayed aloud, "take care of the little girl."

He waited, but no more words would come--no other thought. He rose,
feeling strangely elated, as if some great good fortune had suddenly
come into his possession. It had been like this when the sleeping
child lay in his arms; he could almost feel her little cheek against
his bosom, and hear the soft music of her breathing.

He went back to the wagon and sat on the tongue, still oblivious to
any possible danger of surprise. He spoke aloud, for company:

"She wouldn't have wanted me to look at her--she couldn't have
looked natural. Glad I didn't. Great Scott! but that was a
first-rate prayer! Wouldn't have thought after thirty years I could
have done so well. And it was all there, everything was in them
words! If she knew what I was doing, she couldn't have asked
nothing more, for I reckon she wouldn't expect a man like ME to ask
no favors for that white-livered cowardly second-husband of hers.
I put in all my plea for the little girl. Dinged if I understand
how I come to be so intelligent and handy at what's all new business
to me! I just says, 'O God, take care of the little girl,'--just
them words." He rose with an air of great content and went around
to the front in search of provisions. Presently he spoke aloud: