Kind of a diary--where he--put down--his thoughts.

My son and me--we differed about a good-many things." His chin shook, and from time to time he stopped.

"I wasn't very good to him, I reckon; I crossed him where I guess I got no business to cross him; but I thought everything of--Coonrod.

He was the best boy, from a baby, that ever was; just so patient and mild, and done whatever he was told.

I ought to 'a' let him been a preacher! Oh, my son! my son!" The sobs could not be kept back any longer; they shook the old man with a violence that made March afraid for him; but he controlled himself at last with a series of hoarse sounds like barks.