CHAPTER XII.
PERHAPS some of my readers will pronounce me a stoic, entirely devoid of feeling, when I tell them that two hours after I wrapped the unconscious form of my late patient in his winding, sheet, I enveloped myself in my patchwork quilt, and laid me down not far from the corpse, and slept soundly until six o'clock in the morning. Feeling much refreshed I arose, and after spending a few moments by the side of my silent companion, contemplating the changes which the King of Terrors had wrought, I cut a lock of hair from his temple, took the watch and a small package of letters from his pocket, replaced the blanket reverently, and bade him farewell.
Kiss him once for somebody's sake
Murmur a prayer soft and low;
One bright curl from its dark mates take,
They were somebody's pride, you know: