'Twas but a little after he called me again.
"Boy, give me your hand. Say a prayer for me, won't you? Maybe it'll help some, a prayer for a poor old sinner that's backslid. I can never pray again."
"Yes, try to pray, Jim, try. Come on; say it after me: 'Our Father—'"
"'Our Father—'"
"'Which art in Heaven—'"
"'Which art in—'"
His head fell forward. "Bless you, my boy. Father, forgive, forgive—"
He sank back very quietly.
He was dead.