"No, suh," came a murmur from the shadow on the floor, "I'm a-goin to take care of 'em fine. Yes, suh, I'll chop their eggs small; I sho'ly will."
The dying hand began to wander over the coverlet; his son took it, but was fretfully repulsed; then Dr. Lavendar made a sign, and Simmons laid his thin old hand on it, and Benjamin Wright gave a contented sigh. After a while he opened that one eye again, and looked at Dr. Lavendar; "Isn't it cus-customary on such occasions, to—admonish?" he said, peevishly; "you ain't doing your duty by me, Lavendar."
"You don't need admonition, Benjamin. You know what to do."
Silence again, and after a while a broken murmur: "'I here forget… cancel all grudge, repeal thee…'" Then distinctly and quietly he said: "Sam, will you forgive me?"
Samuel Wright nodded; he could not speak at first, and Simmons lifting his head, looked at him, fiercely; then he swallowed several times, and said, with ponderous dignity: "Certainly, father. Certainly." And Simmons fell back into the shadows.
"Of course," murmured Benjamin Wright, "if I g-get well, it needn't hold, you know."
After that he seemed to sleep a little, until, his eyes still closed, he said, "The boy slapped my face. So it's all right."
Samuel started up from his chair at the bedside, shocked and protesting.
"Gad-a-mercy!" said Benjamin Wright, fretfully, opening his eye and looking at him—"that makes us square! Don't you see?"
There was a long silence. Once Dr. Lavendar spoke to him, and once William King touched his wrist, but he seemed to sleep. Then abruptly, and quite clearly, he spoke: