house clean, the pots boiling, the water buckets full. But Mary and Maum Hannah scarcely took off their clothes or slept more than an hour at a time.
One night, when Unex seemed to be a little better, Maum Hannah went home to catch a short nap. The women with Mary nodded in their chairs, for she sat beside the bed watching. The tide was coming in, nothing would happen before it turned. God knew what the ebb tide might bring. She could not close her eyes until that was past. When a sudden short shudder ran through Unex from head to foot, terror shook her, but she set her teeth against it and, putting her lips close to his ear, whispered:
"I'm right side you, honey. Go back to sleep. Si May-e ain' gwine leave you."
His eyes had cleared, his senses had come back. He knew what he was saying.
"Hold my hand, Si May-e—I got de rattle—my legs is cold to my knees" he whispered.
"Is you want me to call de people, son? Does you want em to come an' sing?"
He shook his head. No, he did not want them.
"I want you to hold my hand, Si May-e.—E is gittin dark."
"E ain' dark, son, de lamp is a-burnin." But as she said it she could see by the lamp's dim
