years
old," he said, "an' genuwine old Lincoln County. I keep it only for
folks that's dyin'," he winked, "an' sometimes, Davy, I feel mighty
like I'm about to pass away myself."

He poured out a very small medicine glass of it, shining and
shimmering in the morning light like a big ruby,--and handed it to
Uncle Davy.

"You say that's twenty years old, Hillard?" asked Uncle Davy as he
wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and again held the little
glass out entreatingly:

"Hillard, ain't it mighty small for its age--'pears to me it orter be
twins to make it the regulation size. Don't you think so?"

The Bishop gave him another and took one himself, remarking as he did
so, "I was pow'ful flustrated when I heard you was dyin' again, Davy,
an' I need it to stiddy my nerves. Now, fetch out yo' will, Davy," he
added.

As he took it the Bishop adjusted his big spectacles, buttoned up his
coat, and drew himself up as he did in the pulpit. He blew his nose
to get a clear sonorous note:

"I've got a verse of poetry that I allers tunes my voice up to the
occasion with," he said. "I do it sorter like a fiddler tunes up his
fiddle. It's a great poem an' I'll put it agin anything in the Queen's
English for real thunder music an' a sentiment that Shakespeare an'
Milton nor none of 'em cud a writ. It stirs me like our park of
artillery at Shiloh, an' it puts me in tune with the great dead of
all eternity. It makes me think of Cap'n Tom an' Albert Sidney
Johnston."

Then in a deep voice he repeated:

"'The muffled drum's sad roll has beat
The soldier's last tattoo--
No more on earth's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few.
On Fame's eternal camping ground
Their silent tents are spread
And glory guards with solemn sound
The Bivouac of the Dead.'"

"Now give me yo' will."

Uncle Davy sat up solemnly, keenly, expectantly. Tilly and Aunt Sally
sat subdued and sad, with that air of solemn importance and respect
which might be expected of a dutiful daughter and bereaved widow on
such an occasion. It was too solemn for Uncle Davy. He began to
whimper again: "I didn't think I would ever live to see the day when
I'd hear my own will read after I was dead, an' Hillard a-readin' it
around my own corpse. It's Tilly's handwrite," he explained, as he saw
the Bishop scrutinizing the testament closely. "I can't write, as you
kno', but I've made my mark at the end, an