Steer the wessel, Jesus,
Steer it night and day,
To the Golden City
Far, far away.
When the hymn ended this time, Uncle Mark opened his eyes, turned a radiant face to the singer—then he turned to his wife.
‘Up the shininsr river,’ he said. ‘Aye, there I be agoing straight away. Kiss me, mother, and let little Madlin kiss me too—I be goin’ to Jesus- -up the shining river to Jesus, mates. It be all for the best—if it weren’t for you three I shouldn’t mind goin’.’
‘Oh Mark, Mark,’ sobbed his wife, now fairly breaking down.
‘Mother, don’t ’ee take on—there be one at the helm as’ll look arter you, and Luke, and little Madlin too. He’s taking me away, the old barge be sunk, and I be going up the river, mates—up the shining ri———’
He was silent, and they thought he had passed away. Those were the last words which Uncle Mark spoke on earth, but he did not die at once. He lay on the sofa for several hours, breathing heavily, like one in a troubled sleep; the time dragged wearily on, the day brightened, then faded, and as the last rays of the setting sun fell across the floor, Uncle Mark heaved his last sigh. He passed away like one in sleep, lying in his wife’s arms, and not for several minutes after his last breath was taken did they know that he was dead.