Suddenly Ben raised his head.
“Clarence and Dora,” he cried.
“Yes,” answered both coming to his bedside.
“Take care of Dorcas, my wife, and my children. Make them good Catholics.”
“Yes, Ben,” said Dora.
“Yes, Ben,” said Clarence.
“O,” said the poor fellow—poor, that is according to the world’s standard—“how happy I am. I am ready to——”
He fell back unconscious.
The Rector who had taken out his “Excerpts from the Roman Ritual,” began, at once, the Litany of the Dying. Before the final invocation was uttered, Ben, the simple, the loving, the repentant, breathed his last.
“Let all leave the tent,” said Father Keenan, on coming to an end of the prayers for the dying, “except the wife and the children. Wait for me without. I will be with you in a few minutes.”