"O don't!" said she, and first I knew she was crying.
"But I will," says I, "for I'm sorry."
"Well, so am I," says she.
Said I, "I thought I was dead, and hadn't made up, Nannie."
"O dear!" said she; and down fell a great hot splash right on my face.
Says I, "It was all me, for I ought to have gone back and kissed you."
"No, it was me" said she, "for I wasn't asleep, not any such thing. I peeked out, this way, through my lashes, to see if you wouldn't come back. I meant to wake up then. Dear me!" says she, "to think what a couple of fools we were, now!"
"Nannie," says I, "you can let the lamp smoke all you want to!"
"Aaron—" she began, just as she had begun that other night,—"Aaron—" but she didn't finish, and—Well, well, no matter; I guess you don't want to hear any more, do you?
But sometimes I think, Johnny, when it comes my time to go,—if ever it does,—I've waited a good while for it,—the first thing I shall see will be her face, looking as it looked at me just then.