"Nothing." His voice is growing weak of late, but I can SEE that he makes the old reply.

He can't leave his bed now, so they have moved it close beside the window, and there he lies, all day: now looking at the sky, and now at his flowers, which he still makes shift to trim and water, with his own thin hands.

At night, when he sees my candle, he draws back his curtain, and leaves it so, till I am in bed.

It seems such company to him to know that I am there, that I often sit at my window for an hour or more, that he may see I am still awake; and sometimes I get up in the night to look at the dull melancholy light in his little room, and wonder whether he is awake or sleeping.
'The night will not be long coming,' said Tim, 'when he will sleep, and never wake again on earth.

We have never so much as shaken hands in all our lives; and yet I shall miss him like an old friend.