"That must be proved, father."
"Oh, now, my boy, 'taint no use for yer to be wastin' of yer good feelin's on them miserable, ongrateful niggers."
"They are not ungrateful; miserable they are, for they have had much misery imposed upon them."
"Oh, 'taint no use of talking 'bout it, child, go to sleep."
"Yes, father, I shall soon sleep soundly enough, in our graveyard."
Mr. Peterkin moved nervously in his chair, and young master continued,
"I do not wish to live longer. I can do no good here, and the sight of so much misery only makes me more wretched. Father, draw close to me, I have lost a great deal of blood. My chest and throat are very sore. I feel that the tide of life ebbs low. I am going fast. My little hour upon earth is almost spent. Ere long, the great mystery of existence will be known to me. A cold shadow, with death-dews on its form, hovers round me. I know, by many signs unknown to others, that death is now upon me. This difficult and labored speech, this failing breath and filmy eye, these heavy night-sweats—all tell me that the golden bowl is about to be broken: the silver cord is tightened to its utmost tension. I am young, father; I have forborne to speak to you upon a subject that has lain near, near, very near my heart." A violent paroxysm of coughing here interrupted him. Instantly Miss Bradly was beside him with a cordial, which he drank mechanically. "There," he continued, as he poised himself upon his elbow, "there, good Miss Emily, cordials are of no avail. I do not wish to stay. Father, do you not want me to rest quietly in my grave?"
"I don't want you to go to the grave at all, my boy, my boy," and Mr. Peterkin burst into tears.
"Yes, but, father, I am going there fast, and no human power can stay me. I shall be happy and resigned, if I can elicit from you one promise."
"What promise is that?"