“Why, Richling?”
“Well—this has been—my—battle-ground. I’d like to be buried on the field,—like the other soldiers. Not that I’ve been a good one; but—I want to lie where you can point to me as you tell my story. If it could be so, I should like to lie in sight—of that old prison.”
The Doctor brushed his eyes with his handkerchief and wiped his brow.
“Doctor,” said the invalid again, “will you read me just four verses in the Bible?”
“Why, yes, my boy, as many as you wish to hear.”
“No, only four.” His free hand moved for the book that lay on the bed, and presently the Doctor read:—
“‘My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations;
“‘Knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience.
“‘But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing.
“‘If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.’”