"Sissy."
"Yes."
"I forgot one thing. Git a little mourning handkerchief out of my hip-pocket. There ain't no gun there. You needn't be afraid."
The woman at last secures a handkerchief which looks the worse for Corkey's long, though reverent, custody.
"Wash it, sissy, and show it up to Mrs. Lockwin. I reckon it will steer her back to the day when she felt pretty good toward me. Be careful of that Harpwood. He ain't no use. I know it. She give me that wipe her own self--yes, she did! God bless her."
The woman once more kisses the sick man.
"The gold, sissy!"
"Never mind it," she says.
"You think it's some good--this letter--don't you, sissy?"
"Of course I do."