he wailed, "I knew that wretched horse would bring you to
your death!"

"I am not dead yet," he said, with a shadow of his old mocking smile,
"although I _have_ succeeded in making a fool of myself. How is Pompey?"

"Pompey!" ejaculated his mother. "I never thought of any one but you."

* * * * *

Evadne stood in Dyce's little room, beside the bed with its gay
patchwork cover. The iron-shod hoofs had done their cruel work only too
well!

"Pompey," she said wistfully, "dear Pompey, is the pain terrible to
bear?"

The faithful eyes looked up at her, the brave lips tried to smile. "De
Lord Jesus is a powerful help in de time of trubble, Miss 'Vadney; I'se
leanin' on his arm."

Evadne repeated, as well as she could for tears. "'Fear thou not, for I
am with thee; be not dismayed, for I am thy God; I will strengthen
thee, yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand
of my righteousness.'"

And Pompey answered with joyous assurance,--"'Though I walk through the
valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with
me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.'"

"The Jedge hez been here," said Dyce with mournful pride. "He say he'll
never find any one like Pompey. He say it wuz de braves' ting he ever
knowed any one to do. He jest cry like a chile, de Jedge did; he say he
never 'spect to find sech a faithful frien' again."

"De Jedge is powerful kind, Missy. He say he'll look out fer Dyce ez
long ez he live," the husband's voice broke,

"I don't care nuthin' 'bout dat!" and Dyce turned away with a choking
sob; "but I'se proud to hev him see what kind of a man you is."

The night drew on. No sound was to be heard in the little cottage except
the ticking of the wheezy clock, as Dyce kept her solitary vigil by the
side of the man she loved. She knelt beside his pillow, and, for her
sake, Pompey made haste to die. As the shadows of the night were fleeing
before the heralds of the dawn, she saw the gray shadow which no earthly
light has power to chase away fall swiftly over his face.

He opened his eyes and spoke in a rapturous whisper. "Dyce! Dyce! I see
de Lord!"

The morning broke. Dyce still knelt on with her face buried in the
pillow; the asthmatic clock still kept on its tireless race; but
Pompey's happy spirit had forever swept beyond the bounds of time.

* * * * *

The humble funeral was over. The Hildreth ca