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I can't throw it off." Bisco shook his head solemnly. "So have I so have I. The older I gits, the mo' I miss Marse Tom." "I don't like the way things are goin' in yonder" and the preacher nodded his head toward the house. Uncle Bisco looked cautiously around to see that no one was near: "He's doin' his bes' the only thing is whether she can forgit Marse Tom."
The overseer leaned back in his chair. Uncle Bisco stooped forward, his chin resting on his hickory staff. And then like the clear notes of a spring, dripping drop by drop with a lengthening cadence into the covered pool of a rock-lined basin, came a simple Sunday School song the two old men loved so well. There were tears in the old negro's eyes when she had finished. Then he sobbed like a child.
A small kerosene lamp sat on a table lighting up a room scrupulously clean. Uncle Bisco was very old. His head was, in truth, a cotton plant full open. His face was intelligent, grave such a face as Howard Weeden only could draw from memory.
Then they slipped back into the house. Alice Westmore had stopped, smiling back from the doorway. "On what, Bishop?" she finally asked. He shook his head. "Jus' the dream of an ole man," he said. "Don't bother about us two ole men. I'll be 'long presently." "Bisco," said the old preacher after a while, "come mighty nigh makin' a break then but I've been thinkin' of Cap'n Tom all day.
"Getting their Sunday School lesson she, Uncle Bisco, and the Bishop." Travis frowned and gave a nervous twitch of his shoulders as he turned around to find himself a chair. "No one knows just how we feel towards Uncle Bisco and his wife," went on Mrs.
An' that ain't the kind of God I'm lookin' fur." "Do you say that, Marse Hillyard?" asked the old negro quickly his eyes taking on the light of hope as one who, weak, comes under the influence of a stronger mind. "Marse Hillyard, do you believe it? Praise God." "Bisco I'm I'm ashamed why should I doubt Him He's told me a thousand truths an' never a lie." "Praise God," replied the old man softly.
It is folly, of course but they beat Captain Roland's old body servant nearly to death because he voted with his old master. And Uncle Bisco has heard threats that he and Aunt Charity will be visited in a like manner. I think it will soon blow over, though at times I confess I am often worried about them, living alone so far off from us, in the cabin in the wood."
They were General Jeremiah Travis and his body-servant, Bisco. "I have come to fight for my state," said General Travis to the Confederate General. "An' I am gwine to take keer of old marster suh," said Bisco as he stuck to his saddle girth.
And so the two old men talked on, and their talk was of Captain Tom. No wonder when the old preacher mounted his horse to go back to his little cabin, all of his thoughts were of Captain Tom. No wonder Uncle Bisco, who had raised him, went to bed and dreamed of Captain Tom dreamed and saw again the bloody Franklin fight. In the library, Travis and Mrs. Westmore sat for some time in silence.
Alice Westmore arose to go. "Now, Bishop " she smiled at the overseer "don't keep Uncle Bisco up all night talking about the war, and if you don't come by the house and chat with mamma and me awhile, we'll be jealous." The overseer looked up: "Miss Alice I'm an ole man an' we ole men all dream dreams when night comes.
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