The wind had quieted, and the snow was falling slowly, steadily in big white flakes, When Dorian again went back to the bedside and looked on the stilled face of his friend, he gave a little start.

He looked again closely, listening, and feeling of the cold hands.

Uncle Zed was dead.
The Greenstreet meeting house was filled to overflowing at the funeral.
Uncle Zed had gone about all his days in the village doing good.

All could tell of some kind deed he had done, with the admonition that it should not be talked about.

He always seemed humiliated when anyone spoke of these things in his hearing; but now, surely, there could be no objection to letting his good deeds shine before men.
Uncle Zed had left with the Bishop a written statement, not in the form of a will, wherein he told what disposition was to be made of his simple belongings.