They washed his wounds,--they provided a rude bed, of some refuse cotton, for him to lie down on; and one of them, stealing up to the house, begged a drink of brandy of Legree, pretending that he was tired, and wanted it for himself. He brought it back, and poured it down Tom's throat.

"O, Tom!" said Quimbo, "we's been awful wicked to ye!"

"I forgive ye, with all my heart!" said Tom, faintly.

"O, Tom! do tell us who is _Jesus_, anyhow?" said Sambo;--"Jesus, that's been a standin' by you so, all this night!--Who is he?"

The word roused the failing, fainting spirit. He poured forth a few energetic sentences of that wondrous One,--his life, his death, his everlasting presence, and power to save.

They wept,--both the two savage men.

"Why didn't I never hear this before?" said Sambo; "but I do believe!--I can't help it! Lord Jesus, have mercy on us!"

"Poor critters!" said Tom, "I'd be willing to bar all I have, if it'll only bring ye to Christ! O, Lord! give me these two more souls, I pray!"

That prayer was answered!