about the place.
Abby kep watch on him, and I happened in once or
twice a day, just to pass the word, and he was
always just as polite, and would read me your
letters. He thought a sight of your letters,
Jakey, and they gave him more pleasure than likely
he'd have had if you'd have ben here, being new
and strange to him, so to speak. He was a perfect
gentleman; he like to read them letters, and they
done credit to him and you. Last night Abby said
to me, she guessed she would take her things over
and stay a spell at the house, till your father
was some better, he was not himself, and she owed
it to you and your mother. I said she was right,
I'd gone myself, but things wasn't so I could
leave, and a woman is better in sickness, however
it may be when a man is well. She went over early
this morning, but your father was gone. There
warn't no hide nor hair of him round the house nor
in the garding. She sent for me, and I sarched the
farm; but while I was at it, seems as if she
sensed where he was, and she went straight to the
berrin-ground, and he was layin on your mother's
grave, peaceful as if he'd just laid down a spell
to rest him. He was dead and cold, Jakes, and you
may as well know it fust as last. He hadn't had no
pain, for when I see him his face was like he was
in heaven, and Abby says it come nearer smiling
than she'd seen it sence your mother was took. So
this is what my paneful duty is to tell you, and
that the Lord will help you threw it is my prayer
and alls that is in the village. Abby is real
sick, or she would write herself. She thought a
sight of your father, as I presume likely you
know. We shall have the funeral to-morrow, and
everything good and plain, knowing how he would
wish it from remembering your mother's. So no
more, Friend Jakey; only all that's in the village
feels for you, and this news coming to you far
away; and would like you to feel that you was
coming home all the same, if he is gone, for there
aint no one but sets by you, and they all want to
see you back, and everybody