“‘The sun shines bright in my old Kentucky home;
‘Tis summer, the darkies are gay;
The corn-tops are ripe, and the meadows are in bloom,
And the birds make music all the day.’”
The Doctor hid his face in his hands, and all was still.
By and by there came a whisper again. The Doctor raised his head.
“Doctor, there’s one thing”—
“Yes, I know there is, Richling.”
“Doctor,—I’ve been a poor stick of a husband.”
“I never knew a good one, Richling.”
“Doctor, you’ll be a friend to Mary?”
The Doctor nodded; his eyes were full.
The sick man drew from his breast a small ambrotype, pressed it to his lips, and poised it in his trembling fingers. It was the likeness of the little Alice. He turned his eyes to his friend.