The old man turned up a burner in the chandelier, and stood looking on the majestic serenity of the dead face.
He could not move when he saw his wife coming down the stairway in the hall.

She was in her long, white flannel bed gown, and the candle she carried shook with her nervous tremor.

He thought she might be walking in her sleep, but she said, quite simply, "I woke up, and I couldn't git to sleep ag'in without comin' to have a look." She stood beside their dead son with him, "well, he's beautiful, Jacob.

He was the prettiest baby! And he was always good, Coonrod was; I'll say that for him.

I don't believe he ever give me a minute's care in his whole life.