Page:The leopard's spots - a romance of the white man's burden-1865-1900 (IA leopardsspotsrom00dixo).pdf/154



HE excitement through which Tom Camp had passed in the death of his daughter, and the stirring events connected with it, had been more than his feeble body could endure. He had been stricken with paroxysms of pain and nausea from his old wounds. For three days and nights he had suffered unspeakable agonies. He had borne his pain with stoical indifference.

"Tom, old man, do look at me! You skeer me," said his wife leaning tenderly over him.

"Oh! I'm all right, Annie."

"What was you studyin' about then?"

"I was just a thinkin' we didn't kill babies in the war. Them was awful times, but they wuz nothin' to what we're goin' through now. The Lord knows best, but I can't understand it."

"Well, don't talk any more. You're too weak."

"I must git up, Annie. Got to git out anyhow. The Sheriff's goin' to sell us out to-day, and I want to sorter look 'round once before we go."

So, leaning on his wife's arm, he hobbled around the place saying good-bye to its familiar objects. They stopped before the garden gate.

"Don't go in there, Tom, I can't stand it," cried his wife. "When I think of leavin' that garden I've worked so hard on all these years, and that's give us so many