"The Jedge hez been here," said Dyce with mournful pride. "He say he'll never find any one like Pompey. He say it wuz de braves' ting he ever knowed any one to do. He jest cry like a chile, de Jedge did; he say he never 'spect to find sech a faithful frien' again."
"De Jedge is powerful kind, Missy. He say he'll look out fer Dyce ez long ez he live," the husband's voice broke,
"I don't care nuthin' 'bout dat!" and Dyce turned away with a choking sob; "but I'se proud to hev him see what kind of a man you is."
The night drew on. No sound was to be heard in the little cottage except the ticking of the wheezy clock, as Dyce kept her solitary vigil by the side of the man she loved. She knelt beside his pillow, and, for her sake, Pompey made haste to die. As the shadows of the night were fleeing before the heralds of the dawn, she saw the gray shadow which no earthly light has power to chase away fall swiftly over his face.
He opened his eyes and spoke in a rapturous whisper. "Dyce! Dyce! I see de Lord!"
The morning broke. Dyce still knelt on with her face buried in the pillow; the asthmatic clock still kept on its tireless race; but Pompey's happy spirit had forever swept beyond the bounds of time.
* * * * *
The humble funeral was over. The Hildreth carriage, behind whose curtained windows sat Dyce and Evadne, had followed close after the hearse. The Judge had walked behind.
"So uncalled for!" Mrs. Hildreth said in an annoyed tone when, she heard of it. Your father never will learn to have a proper regard for les convenances."
"Uncalled for!" ejaculated Louis. "I'll venture to say the Judge will never have a chance to follow such a brave man again."