M.E. church beyond the village, as a
result. Sergeant Williamson had also become an attendant at church for a
while, and then stopped. Without being able to define, or spell, or even
pronounce the term, Sergeant Williamson was a strict pragmatist. Most
Africans are, even five generations removed from the slave-ship that
brought their forefathers from the Dark Continent. And Sergeant
Williamson could not find the blessedness at the church. Instead, it
seemed to center about the room where his employer and former regiment
commander lay. That, to his mind, was quite reasonable. If an Angel of
the Lord was going to tarry upon earth, the celestial being would
naturally prefer the society of a retired U.S.A. colonel to that of a
passel of triflin', no-'counts at an ol' clapboard church house. Be that
as it may, he could always find the blessedness in Colonel Hampton's
room, and sometimes, when the Colonel would be asleep, the blessedness
would follow him out and linger with him for a while.
* * * * *
Colonel Hampton wondered, anxiously, where Dearest was, now.
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