His chin trembled, as if he were about to cry, and sighed:
"Fader an' mammy's quarrelled; the mocking-bird won't sing. Ride for the doctor! ride hard! Oh! oh! too late, little chillen! They'se both dead!"
He returned to perfect knowledge in a moment, and fixed his eyes on Vesta, saying,
"I leave you poor. I tried hard. Perhaps—"
His eye was here arrested by some conflict at the door, where Aunt Hominy, notwithstanding her imperfect wits, was striving to keep guard.
"De debbil's measurin' him in! Measurin' him in at las'!" the old woman said; "Miss Vessy's 'mos' free!"
"Admit me!" spoke a clear, familiar voice, "I must see him. Mr. Clayton has won the lawsuit, and two hundred and twenty-six thousand dollars damages! Cousin Meshach is rich again."
"That friendly voice," spoke Meshach, with a happy light in his eyes; "oh, I wanted to hear it again!"
Yet he put his hand up with all his little strength to push away the intruder, who would have kissed him, and whispered,
"No. The cholera!"