“My hands grow numb, the world is going. I can feel it going. But all that I leave is yours. My breath grows cold. I have only time to say, ‘God save the King!’ I want to go, and leave what I have to you, Peter, for you came back. Good-by, earth; I leave you my woodpile; warm yourself by my fire when I am gone. God—save—the—King!”
He sat silent. Peter bent over him. The old man’s breath was cold, and soon the last pulse beat.
Peter gathered up the gold. He would turn it into education at Plainfield Academy and at Yale College. Then he would go away, after Dennis, perhaps, to the Western territory which would become a new Connecticut.
THE END
Transcriber’s Notes:
Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
Except for the frontispiece, illustrations have been moved to follow the text that they illustrate, so the page number of the illustration may not match the page number in the List of Illustrations.
Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.