The kindly attitude of the old man toward the unhappy little animal touched me more deeply than his own poverty-stricken condition, and so, yielding to a friendly impulse, I stood by him for a moment and spoke to him.
"It's a long wait," said I.
"Oh, well," he said cheerfully, straightening himself up stiffly, "it's so near the end I ain't complainin'. I been waitin' fohty yeahs for this, Brother."
"Forty years?" I repeated.
"Yes, suh," he replied, "fohty long yeahs, suh. I ain't been home since the end o' the wah, suh. An' now I'm comin' back, an' I reckon after I git thar thar ain't a gwine to be but one mo' journey, suh, befo' I'm through."
I knew that I had met a "Southern Gentleman."
"You mean—" I began.
"I'm comin' home to die, suh," he said. "Not that I'm a gwine to be in any hurry to do it," he added, with a winning smile, "but I'm tiahed o' wanderin', an' what's left o' my time hyah, suh, 'll pass mo' pleasantly back among the old scenes."
I endeavored to cover up my emotions by offering the old man a cigar.