"They are some papers belonging to a poor old tramp named David, who lodged in my house for nearly a year--it will be a year come July.

He was very weak and feeble and got lost in a storm on the hills above Weircombe--that's where I live--and I found him lying quite unconscious in the wet and cold, and took him home and nursed him.
He got better and stayed on with me, making baskets for a living--he was too feeble to tramp any more--but he gave me no trouble, he was such a kind, good old man.

I was very fond of him.

And--and--last week he died"-- here her sweet voice trembled.

"He suffered great pain--but at the end he passed away quite peacefully--in my arms.