that had more the look of sleep about it than of death. An old lady

motioned, toward the door and said to Hawkins in a whisper:

"His mother, po' thing. Died of the fever, last night. Tha warn't no

sich thing as saving of her. But it's better for her--better for her.

Husband and the other two children died in the spring, and she hain't

ever hilt up her head sence. She jest went around broken-hearted like,

and never took no intrust in anything but Clay--that's the boy thar.

She jest worshiped Clay--and Clay he worshiped her. They didn't 'pear to

live at all, only when they was together, looking at each other, loving

one another. She's ben sick three weeks; and if you believe me that

child has worked, and kep' the run of the med'cin, and the times of

giving it, and sot up nights and nussed her, and tried to keep up her

sperits, the same as a grown-up person. And last night when she kep' a

sinking and sinking, and turned away her head and didn't know him no

mo', it was fitten to make a body's heart break to see him climb onto the bed

and lay his cheek agin hern and call her so pitiful and she not answer.

But bymeby she roused up, like, and looked around wild, and then she see

him, and she made a great cry and snatched him to her breast and hilt him

close and kissed him over and over agin; but it took the last po'

strength she had, and so her eyelids begin to close down, and her arms

sort o' drooped away and then we see she was gone, po' creetur. And

Clay, he--Oh, the po' motherless thing--I cain't talk abort it--I cain't

bear to talk about it."

Clay had disappeared from the door; but he came in, now, and the

The Gilded Age