leveled on me: marster sutny did cry. ‘Nem min’,’ he said, ‘I comin’ right down in de summer to buy you back an’ bring you home.’ He’s comin’, too—nuver tol’ me a lie in he life—comin’ dis evenin’. Make ’aste.” This in tremulous eagerness to the woman, who had involuntarily caught the feeling, and was now with eager and ineffectual haste trying to button his shirt.

An exclamation from her husband caused her to turn around, as he stepped into the light and held up an old sock filled with something.

“Heah, hol you’ apron,” said the old man to Polly, who gathered up the lower corners of her apron and stood nearer the bed.

“Po’ it in dyah.” This to Ephraim, who mechanically obeyed. He pulled off the string, and poured into his wife’s lap the heap of glittering coin—gold and silver more than their eyes had ever seen before.

“Hit’s all dyah,” said the old man confidentially, as if he were rendering an account. “I been savin’ it ever sence dee took me ’way. I so busy savin’ it i ain’ had time to eat, but I ain’ hongry now; have plenty when I git home.” He sank back exhausted. “Oon marster be glad to see me?” he asked presently in pathetic simplicity. “You know we grewed up togerr? I been waitin’ so long I ’feared dee ’mos’ done forgit me. You reckon dee is?” he asked the woman appealingly.

“No, suh, dee ain’ forgit you,” she said comfortingly.

“I know dee ain’,” he said, reassured. “Dat’s what he tell me—he ain’ nuver gwine forgit me.” The reaction had set in, and his voice was so feeble now it was scarcely audible. He was talking rather to himself than to them, and finally he sank into a doze. A painful silence reigned in the little hut, in which the only sign was the breathing of the dying man. A single shaft of light stole down under the edge of the slowly passing cloud and slipped up to the door. Suddenly the sleeper waked with a start, and gazed around.

“Hit gittin’ mighty dark,” he whispered faintly. “You reckon dee’ll git heah ’of’ dark?”

The light was dying from his eyes.

“Ephum,” said the woman, softly, to her husband.

The effect was electrical.

“Heish! you heah dat!” exclaimed the dying man eagerly.

“Ephum”—she repeated. The rest was drowned by Ole ‘Stracted’s joyous exclamation.

“Gord! I knowed it!” he cried, suddenly rising upright, and, with beaming face, stretching both arms toward the door. “Dyah dee come! Now watch ’em smile. All y’all jes stand back. Heah de one you lookin’ for. Marster—Mymy—heah’s Little Ephum!” And with a smile on his face he sank back into his son’s arms.

The evening sun, dropping on the instant to his setting, flooded the room with light; but as Ephraim gently eased him down and drew his arm from around him, it was the light of the unending morning that was on his face. His Master had at last come for him and after his long waiting, Ole ’Stracted had indeed gone home.