ng was wrong in man's
management of things when little birds were free and little children
must work.

As she ran off she waved her hand to her grandfather.

"I'll fetch you another bunch when I come back, Pet," he called.

"You'd better fetch her somethin' to eat, instead of prayin' aroun'
with old fools that's always dyin'," called Mrs. Watts to him from
the kitchen door where she was scrubbing the cans.

"The Lord will always provide, Tabitha--he has never failed me yet."

She watched him drive slowly over the hill: "That means I had better
get a move on me an' go to furagin'," she said to herself.

"Hillard Watts has mistuck me for the Almighty mighty nigh all his
life. It's about time the blackberries was a gittin' ripe anyway."

The Bishop found the greatest distress at Uncle Dave Dickey's. Aunt
Sally Dickey, his wife, was weeping on the front porch, while Tilly,
Uncle Dave's pretty grown daughter, her calico dress tucked up for
the morning's work, showing feet and ankles that would grace a
duchess, was lamenting loudly on the back porch. A coon dog of
uncertain lineage and intellectual development, tuned to the howling
pitch, doubtless, by the music of Tilly's sobs, joined in the chorus.

"Po' Davy is gwine--he's most gone--boo--boo-oo!" sobbed Aunt Sally.

"Pap--Pap--don't leave us," echoed Tilly from the back porch.

"Ow--wow--oo--oo," howled the dog.

The Bishop went in sad and subdued, expecting to find Uncle Davy
breathing his last. Instead, he found him sitting bolt upright in
bed, and sobbing even more lustily than his wife and daughter. He
stretched out his hands pitiably as his old friend went in.

"Most gone"--he sobbed--"Hillard--the old man is most gone. You've
come jus' in time to see your old friend breathe his las' an' to
witness his will," and he broke out sobbing afresh, in which Aunt
Sally and Tilly and the dog, all of whom had followed the Bishop in,
joined.

The Bishop took in the situation at a glance. Then he broke into a
smile that gradually settled all over his kindly face.

"Look aheah, Davy, you ain't no mo' dyin' than I am."

"What--what?" said Uncle Davy between his sobs--"I ain't a dyin',
Hillard? Oh, yes, I be. Sally and Tilly both say so."

"Now, look aheah, Davy, it ain't so. I've seed hundreds die--yes,
hundreds--strong men, babes--women and little tots, strong ones, and
weak and frail ones, given to tears, but I've never seed one die yet
sheddin' a single tear,