"Have you any advice to give me, father?" asked Philip, after a
pause. "Whatever your wishes may be, I will try to observe them."

"I do not doubt it, Philip. You have always been an obedient son,
and have been considerate of my weakness. I will think it over, and
try to give you some directions which may be of service to you.
Perhaps I may be able to think of some business friend to whom I can
commend you."

"You have talked enough, father," said Philip, noticing his father's
increasing pallor and the evident exertion with which he spoke.
"Rest now, and to-morrow we can talk again."

Mr. Gray was evidently in need of rest. He closed his eyes and
apparently slept. But he never awoke to consciousness. The
conversation above recorded was the last he was able to hold with
his son. For two days he remained in a kind of stupor, and at the
end of that time he died.

Philip's grief was not violent. He had so long anticipated his
father's death that it gave him only a mild shock.

Friends and neighbors made the necessary arrangements for the
funeral, and the last services were performed. Then, at length,
Philip realized that he had lost his best earthly friend, and that
he was henceforth alone in the world. He did not as yet know that
Squire Pope had considerately provided him with a home in the
village poorhouse.