I kissed my poor dear, and she dozed off peaceful and happy. But all of a sudden she opened her eyes with a start, and sat up in the bed.
"Solomon!" she cried, and held out her arms wide. "Solomon, my King!" and then fell back on the piller, dead.
There, little Dolly! don't you cry, dear! 'T was the best thing for the poor thing. I opened the bag, when it was all over, and what do you think I found? A newspaper slip, sayin', "Lost at sea, on March 2, 18—, Solomon Marshall, twenty-seven years," and a lock o' dark-brown hair. Them was the Great Talisman. But if true love and faith can make a thing holy, this poor little bag is holy, and as such I've kept it.
There's your ma comin', Dolly. Put on your bonnet, Honey, quick! And see here, dear! you needn't tell her nothin' I said about Hezekiah King, I clean forgot he was your grandfather.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] Pronounced Kay-iry.