than his grandfather's
coat-sleeve or his arms from around his waist. He hardly knew why he
still wept, and yet when presently he sobbed, "But, gran'dad, I'm
'feered you _mought_ die," the old man understood.

Certainly, even if he were not going to die now, giving away the old
banjo seemed like a preparation for death. Was it not, in fact, a formal
confession that he was nearing the end of his days? Had not this very
feeling made it hard for him to part with it? The boy's grief at the
thought touched him deeply, and lifting the little fellow upon his knee,
he said, fondly:

"_Don't_ fret, honey. _Don't_ let Christmas find yon cryin'. I tell you
what I say let's do. I ain't gwine gi'e you de banjo, not yit, caze, des
as you say, I _mought_ die; but I tell you what I gwine do. I gwine take
you in pardners in it wid me. She ain't _mine_ an' she ain't _yoze_, and
yit she's _bofe of us's_. You see, boy? _She's ourn!_ An' when I wants
ter play on 'er _I'll play_, an' when you wants 'er, why, you teck
'er--on'y be a _leetle_ bit keerful at fust, honey."

"An' kin I ca'y 'er behine de cabin, whar you can't see how I'm
a-holdin' 'er, an' play anyway I choose?"

Old Tim winced a little at this, but he had not given grudgingly.

"Cert'n'y," he answered. "Why not? Git up an' play 'er in de middle o'
de night ef you want ter, on'y, of co'se, be keerful how you reach 'er
down, so's you won't jolt 'er too sudden. An' now, boy, hand 'er heah
an' lemme talk to yer a little bit."

When little Tim lifted the banjo from the floor his face fairly beamed
with joy, although in the darkness no one saw it, for the shaft of light
had passed beyond him now. Handing the banjo to his grandfather, he
slipped naturally back of it into his accustomed place in his arms.

"Dis heah's a fus'-class thing ter work off bad tempers wid," the old
man began, tightening the strings as he spoke. "Now ef one o' deze mule
tempers ever take a-holt of yer in de foot, dat foot 'll be mighty ap'
ter do some kickin'; an' ef it seizes a-holt o' yo' han', dat little
fis' 'll be purty sho ter strike out an' do some damage; an' ef it jump
onter yo' tongue, hit 'll mighty soon twis' it into sayin' bad language.
But ef you'll teck hol' o' dis ole banjo des as quick as you feel de
badness rise up in you, _an' play_, you'll scare de evil temper away so
bad it _daresn't come back_. Ef it done settled _too strong_ in yo'
tongue, run it off wid a song; an' ef yo' feet's g