"He'll divvy up, when he gets it.

He'll stand by you, old man." "Would you please not mind," whispered the Teller faintly, "would you please not mind if you took care not to brush against my shoulder again ?" The surgeon drew back with an exclamation; but the Teller's whisper gathered strength, and they heard him murmuring oddly to himself.
Meredith moved forward.
"What's that ?" he asked, with a startled gesture.
"Seems to be trying to sing, or something," said Barrett, bending over to listen.

The Teller swung his arm heavily over the side of the cot, the fingers never ceasing their painful twitching, and Gay leaned down and gently moved the cloths so that the white, scarred lips were free.
They moved steadily; they seemed to be framing the semblance of an old ballad that Meredith knew; the whisper grew more distinct, and it became a rich but broken voice, and they heard it singing, like the sound of some far, halting minstrelsy: "Wave willows--murmur waters--golden sunbeams smile, Earthly music--cannot waken--lovely--Annie Lisle." "My God!" cried Tom Meredith.
The bandaged hand waved jauntily over the Teller's head.

"Ah, men," he said, almost clearly, and tried to lift himself on his arm, "I tell you it's a grand eleven we have this year! There will be little left of anything that stands against them.

Did you see Jim Romley ride over his man this afternoon ?" As the voice grew clearer the sheriff stepped forward, but Tom Meredith, with a loud exclamation of grief, threw himself on his knees beside the cot and seized the wandering fingers in his own.