merciful God, for in him is my hope
an' trust. Christ, by his precious blood, has taken away my sins, for
you know I have been a great sinner;" he then closed his eyes for a few
minutes, but his lips were moving as if in prayer. "Yes, Margaret," he
again proceeded, "I am goin' to lave you all at last; I feel it--I
can't say that I'll love you no more, for I think that even in heaven
I couldn't forget you; but I'll never more lave you a sore heart, as
I often did--I'll never bring the bitther tear to your eye--the hue
of care to your face, or the pang of grief an' misery to your heart
again--thank God I will not; all my follies, all my weaknesses, and all
my crimes--"

"Art," said his wife, wringing her hands, and sobbing as if her heart
would break, "if you wish me to be firm, and to set our childre an
example of courage, now that it's so much wanted, oh, don't spake as you
do--my heart cannot stand it."

"Well, no," said he, "I won't; but when I think of what I might be this
day, and of what I am--when I think of what you and our childre might
be--an' when I see what you are--and all through my means--when I think
of this, Margaret dear, an' that I'm torn away from you and them in the
very prime of life--but," he added, turning hastily from that view of
his situation, "God is good an' merciful, an' that is my hope."

"Let it be so, Art dear," replied Margaret; "as for us, God will take
care of us, and in him we will put our trust, too; remimber that he is
the God and father of the widow an' the orphan."

He here appeared to be getting very weak, but in a minute or two he
rallied a little, and said, while his eye, which was now becoming heavy,
sought about until it became fixed upon his son--

"Margaret, bring him to me."

She took the boy by the hand, and led him over to the bedside.

"Put his hand in mine," said he, "put his blessed hand in mine."

She did so, and Art looked long and steadily upon the face of his child.

"Margaret," said he, "you know that durin' all my wild and sinful
coorses, I always wore the lock of hair you gave me when we wor young
next my heart--my poor weak heart."

Margaret buried her face in her hands, and for some time could not
reply.

"I don't wish, darlin'," said he, "to cause you sorrow--you will have
too much of that; but I ax it as a favor--the last from my lips--that
you will now cut off a lock of his hair--his hair fair--an' put it along
with your own upon my heart; it'