CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN.
FAITH IS RESTORED "Custer--" began Mr.Shrimplin, and paused to clear his throat.

He was walking beside wild Bill's head while Custer in the cart tried to support Langham, for the latter had not regained consciousness.

"Custer, I'm mighty well satisfied with you; I may say that while I always been proud of you, I am prouder this moment than I ever hoped to be! How many boys in Mount Hope, do you think, would have the nerve to do what you just done?
I love nerve," concluded Mr.Shrimplin with generous enthusiasm.
But Custer was silent, a sense of bitter shame kept him mute.
"Custer," said his father, in a timidly propitiatory tone, "I hope you ain't feeling stuck-up about this!" "I wish it had never happened!" The boy spoke in an angry whisper.
"You wish what had never happened, Custer ?" "About you--I mean!" Shrimplin gave a hollow little laugh.
"Well, and what about me, son--if I may be allowed to ask ?" "I wish you'd gone down to the crick bank like I wanted you to!" rejoined the boy.
Again he felt the hot tears gather, and drew the back of his hand across his eyes.

The little lamplighter had been wishing this, too; indeed, it would for ever remain one of the griefs of his life that he had not done so.

He wondered miserably if the old faith would ever renew itself.