His face softened; his eyes grew bright with pride and tenderness as he spoke of his children. 'Zeki'l watched him, noting the change in his countenance, and perhaps feeling some pain and regret that he had missed such pleasure. 'Lijy reached out his hand and laid it on his knee. "'Zeki'l, you must come live with us now. I'll tell these folks we are brothers, an'—"
"I don't know as I would," said 'Zeki'l, gently. "It would only make talk, an' I'm settled here, you know."
His unimpassioned tone had its effect on his brother. He protested, but rather faintly, finally saying:
"Well, if you'd rather not—"
"That's just it. I'd rather not."
They both rose, and 'Lijy groped uncertainly for his hat.
"Your life ain't worth much to you, 'Zeki'l, I know it ain't," with uncontrollable emotion.
"It's worth more 'n you think, 'Lijy, more 'n you think."
He knocked the ashes from his pipe, and cleared his throat as though to speak again, but his brother had reached the door before he called to him.
"'Lijy."