He hedn't much here, but he'll be wuss off theer.

Half a loaf's better nor ne'er un.' The sad good-byes had all been said before that last evening; and after all the packing was done and all the arrangements were made, Amos felt the oppression of that blank interval in which one has nothing left to think of but the dreary future--the separation from the loved and familiar, and the chilling entrance on the new and strange.

In every parting there is an image of death.
Soon after ten o'clock, when he had sent Nanny to bed, that she might have a good night's rest before the fatigues of the morrow, he stole softly out to pay a last visit to Milly's grave.

It was a moonless night, but the sky was thick with stars, and their light was enough to show that the grass had grown long on the grave, and that there was a tombstone telling in bright letters, on a dark ground, that beneath were deposited the remains of Amelia, the beloved wife of Amos Barton, who died in the thirty-fifth year of her age, leaving a husband and six children to lament her loss.

The final words of the inscription were, 'Thy will be done.' The husband was now advancing towards the dear mound from which he was so soon to be parted, perhaps for ever.