Charlie attempted to rise, but fell back, exhausted, saying, while a growing faintness crept over him,–
“I can’t get up, Bub, I’m so sick; pull the string.”
Bub did as he was directed, and again the cabin fort broke the stillness of prairie and forest with its unmanned broadside.
“Now,” said Charlie, his voice sinking to a whisper, “go and hide yourself in the cellar, Bub, and keep very still.”
“I ’fraid ’out you!” said Bub.
“I am so sick,” answered Charlie, “I can’t go with you.”
“I so ’fraid!” quivered Bub, as he saw the deathly pallor creeping over Charlie’s face, and the fixed look of his eyes.
“Pray, and then go and keep still,” said Charlie.
And little Bub knelt by the bedside, and, folding his hands, repeated,– 279
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“Now I lay me down to sleep; I pray the Lord my soul to keep; If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take;” |