They kissed his hand as they came in, and all night sat in silence about him.

One of them, a feeble old man, threw himself on his knees beside the body of his benefactor, and cried out between his sobs: "I am only a poor black man, and ignorant.

Yet I am not afraid to come and take the last look of my dead friend's face.

Behold, Tusitala is dead.

We were in prison and he cared for us.