Then being told he must not talk so loud and that he must hurry, he said very earnestly, as he brought from his pocket a small, red wad, “Here, Mr. No. 3, here’s my wed stocking; I got it my ownse’f for you. If your froat should get sore, like you said, you dess put it on at night and you’ll come all well in the morning--dess like I did.”
A smile parted the man’s white lips as he said, “Thank you, my boy--I may try it--though I suppose--hemp would suit--my case--better than wool.”
All this time his eyes had gone past Charley and were on me. My mother noticed it, and now he hurriedly whispered “Good-bye,” and as Charley was taken down he motioned to have me lifted up into his place. Then in a whispering voice he said to my mother, “You think--it strange--eh, well!--it’s because she is--so wonderfully like--my child--my only one--my Annie. It’s marvelous--the likeness. It’s not that they both--have that same--surprising length of hair--the same wide, gray-blue eyes--the same tricks--of manner and movement--even to that habit of standing--with hands behind the back--gently pulling at the two great braids. But it’s the voice. I’ve been ready--to swear at times--that my wife--had broken her vow--and had brought--Annie to see me. And though I starve--for the sight of her--until at times I’m almost mad--I’d kill my wife--if she brought--the child here--to know my shame. And this little one--is so like her--so like and yet so different--for Annie loves me--while this child----”
I felt my face flame with hot blood, for my mother did not know I had been told of the murder, and I was frightened, but he went on gently, “Ah, well, there is no reason why this one should--love me--a stranger.”
Mother moved toward the door, but Charley broke from her and once more climbed up on the bed. “I have dess one ’ticular thing to say, dess one!” he pleaded, and he stooped to whisper to the sick man, “Dear, dear Mr. No. 3--try to get well--and--and--I know you don’t like the preacher man, but I know my own night ‘prays’ my ownse’f, and when I say ‘my soul to keep’ I’ll say ‘your soul to keep,’ too, every time!”
And Clarks groaned, “For God’s sake take him away!” and Goldy-locks put his clean, sweet, little pink lips lovingly to those sin-stained, fever-parched ones and said “Good-bye, good-bye!” and slid down and ran and hid his tears in the folds of my mother’s dress.