Aunt Eve stood on the front door-step shaking the shovel at the crowd.
"Des put yo big flat hoofs in dis house ergin! I'll split yo heads wide open! You black cattle!"
"Dat we will!" railed Dick as he cracked the whip at a little negro passing.
Charlie ran into his mother's room to see what she was doing, and found her lying across the floor on her face.
"Aunt Eve, come quick, Mama's dying!" he shouted.
They lifted her to the bed, and Dick ran for the doctor.
Dr. Graham looked very grave when he had completed his examination.
"Come here, my boy, I must tell you some sad news."
Charlie's big brown eyes glanced up with a startled look into the doctor's face.
"Don't tell me she's dying, doctor, I can't stand it."
The doctor took his hand. "You're getting to be a man now, my son, you will soon be thirteen. You must be brave. Your mother will not live through the night."
The boy sank on his knees beside the still white figure, tenderly clasped her thin hand in his, and began to kiss it slowly. He would kiss it, lay his wet cheek against it, and try to warm it with his hot young blood.
It was about nine o'clock when she opened her eyes with a smile and looked into his face.
"My sweet boy," she whispered.
"Oh! Mama, do try to live! Don't leave me," he sobbed in quivering tones as he leaned over and kissed her lips. She smiled faintly again.
"Yes, I must go, dear. I am tired. Your papa is waiting for me. I see him smiling and beckoning to me now. I must go."
A sob shook the boy with an agony no words could frame.
