"It's me," he replied; "it's me, sure enough."

"Why, so'tis. Popsy, where's my money?"

"Here, Sissy, right here."

She extended a thin, wasted hand.

"I want you to have it, Pap," she said, speaking very slowly, but in a
clearer tone. "You see, it's like this. I've got the diptheery, an'
I'm a-goin' to die. I don't need the money--see! And you do, you pore
old Pap, so you must take it."

Pap took the money in silence. George Leadham had turned aside, unable
to speak. I stood behind the door, out of sight. Sissy stared
anxiously at Pap.

"Popsy said you wouldn't come, but I knew you would," she sighed.
"Good-bye, you pore old Pap." She closed her eyes, but she held Pap's
hand. The young doctor came forward with his finger upon his lips.
Quietly, he signed to Pap to leave the room; the old man shook his
head. The doctor beckoned the father and me out on to the porch.

"Miracles sometimes happen," said he, gravely. "The child has fallen
into a natural sleep."

But not for three hours did her grip relax of Pap's hand, and he sat
beside her patiently, refusing to budge. Who shall say what was
passing in his mind, so long absorbed in itself, and now, if one could