"Dear boy," he said, as I sat down by his bed: "I thought you was late. But I knowed you couldn't be that."

     "It is just the time," said I. "I waited for it at the gate."

     "You always waits at the gate; don't you, dear boy?"

     "Yes. Not to lose a moment of the time."

     "Thank'ee dear boy, thank'ee. God bless you! You've never deserted me, dear boy."

     I pressed his hand in silence, for I could not forget that I had once meant to desert him.

     "And what's the best of all," he said, "you've been more comfortable alonger me, since I was under a dark cloud, than when the sun shone. That's best of all."

     He lay on his back, breathing with great difficulty. Do what he would, and love me though he did, the light left his face ever and again, and a film came over the placid look at the white ceiling.

     "Are you in much pain to-day?"

     "I don't complain of none, dear boy."

     "You never do complain."