ghty
smart,--he can make paint, but he can't make a pine tree."

It was Sunday morning, and as the Bishop drove along to church he was
still thinking of Jack Bracken and Captain Tom, and the burial of
little Jack. When he arose that morning Jack was up, clean-shaved and
neatly dressed. As Mrs. Watts, the Bishop's wife, had become used, as
she expressed it, to his "fetchin' any old thing, frum an old hoss to
an old man home, wharever he finds 'em,"--she did not express any
surprise at having a new addition to the family.

The outlaw looked nervous and sorrow-stricken. Several times, when
some one came on him unexpectedly, the Bishop saw him feeling
nervously for a Colt's revolver which had been put away. Now and
then, too, he saw great tears trickling down the rough cheeks, when
he thought no one was noticing him.

"Now, Jack," said the Bishop after breakfast, "you jes' get on John
Paul Jones an' hunt for Cap'n Tom. I know you'll not leave no stone
unturned to find him. Go by the cave and see if him an' Eph ain't
gone back. I'm not af'eard--I know Eph will take care of him, but we
want to fin' him. After meetin' if you haven't found him I'll join in
the hunt myself--for we must find Cap'n Tom, Jack, befo' the sun goes
down. I'd ruther see him than any livin' man. Cap'n Tom--Cap'n
Tom--him that's been as dead all these years! Fetch him home when you
find him--fetch him home to me. He shall never want while I live.
An', Jack, remember--don't forget yo'se'f and hold up anybody. I'll
expec' you to jine the church nex' Sunday."

"I ain't been in a church for fifteen years," said the other.

"High time you are going, then. You've put yo' hands to the
plough--turn not back an' God'll straighten out everything."

Jack was silent. "I'll go by the cave fus' an' jus' look where little
Jack is sleepin'. Po' little feller, he must ha' been mighty lonesome
last night."

It was ten o'clock and the Bishop was on his way to church. He was
driving the old roan of the night before. A parody on a horse, to one
who did not look closely, but to one who knows and who looks beyond
the mere external form for that hidden something in both man and
horse which bespeaks strength and reserve force, there was seen
through the blindness and the ugliness and the sleepy, ambling,
shuffling gait a clean-cut form, with deep chest and closely ribbed;
with well drawn flanks, a fine, flat steel-turned bone, and a
powerful muscle, above hock and forea