ne that followed, are still fresh in
her memory.

Poor Bud Stucky, the shadow of his former self, was lying on the bed.
His thin hands were crossed on his breast, and the pallor of death was
on his emaciated face. His mother sat by the bed with her eyes fixed on
his. She made no sign when Helen entered, but continued to gaze on her
son.

The young woman, bent on a mission of mercy, paused on the threshold,
and regarded the two unfortunates with a sympathy akin to awe. Bud
Stucky moved his head uneasily, and essayed to speak, but the sound died
away in his throat. He made another effort. His lips moved feebly; his
voice had an unearthly, a far-away sound.

"Miss," he said, regarding her with a piteous expression in his sunken
eyes, "I wish you'd please, ma'am, make maw let me go." He seemed to
gather strength as he went on. "I'm all ready, an' a-waitin'; I wish
you'd please, ma'am, make 'er let me go."

"Oh, what can I do?" cried Helen, seized with a new sense of the pathos
that is a part of the humblest human life.

"Please, ma'am, make 'er let me go. I been a-layin' here ready two whole
days an' three long nights, but maw keeps on a-watchin' of me; she won't
let me go. She's got 'er eyes nailed on me constant."

Helen looked at the mother. Her form was wasted by long vigils, but she
sat bolt upright in her chair, and in her eyes burned the fires of an
indomitable will. She kept them fixed on her son.

"Won't you please, ma'am, tell maw to let me go? I'm so tired er
waitin'."

The plaintive voice seemed to be an echo from the valley of the shadow
of death. Helen, watching narrowly and with agonized curiosity, thought
she saw the mother's lips move; but no sound issued therefrom. The dying
man made another appeal:

"Oh, I'm so tired! I'm all ready, an' she won't let me go. A long time
ago when I us' ter ax 'er, she'd let me do 'most anything, an' now she
won't let me go. Oh, Lordy! I'm so tired er waitin'! Please, ma'am, ax
'er to let me go."

Mrs. Stucky rose from her chair, raised her clasped hands above her
head, and turned her face away. As she did so, something like a sigh of
relief escaped from her son. He closed his eyes, and over his wan face
spread the repose and perfect peace of death.

Turning again toward the bed, Mrs. Stucky saw Helen weeping gently. She
gazed at her a moment. "Whatter you cryin' fer now?" she asked with
unmistakable bitterness. "You wouldn't a-wiped your feet on 'im. Ef you
w