I saw the poor girl shudder slightly as we
stopped at the door of a low, two-story frame house, from which the
unwonted spectacle of a carriage brought a crowd of half-naked
children and a comely, cleanly, kind-faced mulatto woman.
Yes, this was the house. He was upstairs, rather poorly, but
asleep, she thought.
We went upstairs. In the first chamber, clean, though poorly
furnished, lay Dobbs. On a pine table near his bed were letters
and memorials to the various departments, and on the bed-quilt,
unfinished, but just as the weary fingers had relaxed their grasp
upon it, lay a letter to the Tape Department.
As we entered the room he lifted himself on his elbow. "Fanny!" he
said, quickly, and a shade of disappointment crossed his face. "I
thought it was a message from the secretary," he added,
apologetically.
The poor woman had suffered too much already to shrink from this
last crushing blow. But she walked quietly to his side without a
word or cry, knelt, placed her loving arms around him, and I left
them so together.
Pages:
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265