to die.
The squire
dropped
down
beside him
on his
knees and
kissed his
hand,
crying
like a
child. “Be
I going,
doctor?”
he asked.
“Tom, my
man,” said
I, “you’re
going
home.” “I
wish I had
had a lick
at them
with the
gun
first,” he
replied.
“Tom,”
said the
squire,
“say you
forgive
me, won’t
you?”
“Would
that be
respectful
like, from
me to you,
squire?”
was the
answer.
“Howsoever,
so be it,
amen!”
After a
little
while of
silence,
he said he
