"Is that all you did?"
"All. I couldn't do anything more. And now, good-by. Remember my last words—Whom did Jesus come to save?"
"Why, He come to save me," burst out the old man, rising up. "What a cussed old fool I was, not to see it afore! I was allers thinkin' He came after the good folks, and I felt that no matter how I tried I could not be good enough. Good-by, John Walton. If they are goin' to let sinners into heaven who are willin' to come any way the Lord will let 'em come, I'll be yer neighbor again 'fore long;" and with his withered, bronzed visage working with an emotion that he did not seek to control, he wrung the dying man's hand, and hobbled out.
But he pleaded with Miss Eulie to let him stay. "I want to see it out," he said, "for if grim Death ain't goin' to get one square knock-down now, then he never had it, I want to see the victory. 'Pears to me that when the gates open the glory will shine out upon us all."
So she installed him in Mr. Walton's arm-chair by the parlor fire, and made him thoroughly at home.
"I'm a waitin' by the side of the river," he said. "I wish I could go over with him. 'Pears I'd feel sure they wouldn't turn me back then."
"Jesus will go over the river with you," she said, gently, "and then they can't turn you back."
"I hope so, I hope so," said this old, child-like man, "for I'm an awful sinner."
After this interview, which greatly fatigued him, Mr. Walton dozed for an hour, and then brightened up so decidedly that Annie had faint hopes that he was better.
The children were brought to him, and he kissed and fondled them very tenderly. Then, in a way that would make a deep impression on their childish natures, he told them how he was going to see their father and mother, and would tell what good children they had been, and how they always meant to be good, and how all would be waiting for them in heaven.