But when George had finished reading, John Jay was not gazing into the
clouds for a glimpse of the city to which his friend was going; he was
looking down the road. Crowned with all their autumn glory, the far
hills stood up fair and golden in the westering sun. It was to some
place just as real and beautiful as the hills he looked upon that George
was going, not a crowded street with an endless procession of singing,
white-robed figures. A far country, under whose waving trees health and
strength would be given back to him. No, dying was not a cold, ugly
thing.
"_They shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee
away!_"
George closed the book, and leaning wearily back in the chair, drew his
hand over his eyes. "I want you to promise me one thing, John Jay," he
said. "That when I am gone you will think of what I am telling you now,
and when the colored people all gather around to see this tired body of
mine laid aside, you'll remember Dr. Leonard's coat, and you'll say,
'George has left his behind too.
Pages:
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109