At times like this--and they were not a few--it was hard for Father Orin
to believe that Toby had no soul. It was indeed so hard now and then,
as on that night, that he could not believe it; that he could not think
there would be no reward of any kind for such service as Toby was giving
the Faith. It was service as faithful as his own; he could not have
given his without Toby's help. Looking upward toward his own reward,
even this bitter, black winter's night became as nothing; but Toby--what
was there for Toby? He did not remember that he often gave Toby the food
which he needed himself, as he had just given him the warmth from his
own shivering body. He thought only of the things that Toby did for him
and for the Faith. And so thinking, very strange fancies about Toby
would now and then come to him with the profoundest reverence. And on
that dreary night, when their dauntless spirits seemed to touch, while
their exhausted bodies thus dozed side by side, a pleasant vision
vaguely blended Father Orin's half-conscious dreams with his perplexed
waking thoughts.
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