The Arkansaw traveler., 1888-09-29

only solace in his Loneliness. Some times Robert and I would find him sitting under the maple tree, his banjo by his side, his face buried in his hands, while he rocked himself from side to side as if in bodily pain. And every day I took the soiled yell low envelope and studied the blurred post-mark, hoping to be able to read it, so could find some means of com- municating with Mandy, but always without success.
 One evening in June Robert and walked down to the cabin just as the moon began to shed soft, silvery light over the quaint valley. Uncle Ike had complained of feeling sick, and as he had not been up to the house to finish his daily chores, we were little uneasy about him.
 We found him leaning idly over the little gate, looking straight before him, and on his black face tear gilt tering in the moonlight. His weary attitude and the sight of that tear, gave me feeling of indescribable sad ness. had never before seen one of his race weep, except the frantic howlings and lamentations that form a part of their religious worship; and now, as looked at Uncle Ike, I was touched at the gentle patience with which he bore his disappointment, and longed to say something to com fort him, but hardly knew how to begin.
 "Tm afraid you have been working too hard this summer, Uncle Ike," said, at last.
 "Tain't dat, Miss Lucyl" he said, slowly, as he lifted his hand furtively to his face, and brushed away the tear that glistened there-"tain't dat 1! You know when de body gifts ole an' worn out, de heart is apt to stop beatin' at any time, like a clock dat's run down an can't be woun' up no more. And dat's de way hit is wid me, Pse pretty nigh worn out,- dough I did feel right spry fore de hot days set in. Now, sence Pse glib up lookin' for Mandy,"-his voice growing tremulous and low, "I ain't had de mind to do my work wid de propah sperrit."
 "Don't lose heart, Uncle Ike, for Mandy may come yet" said Robert cheerfully.
 "No, Marse Robert, she won't neb- Der come now," and Uncle Ike shook his head solemnly. "Dar's sumthin' here," laying his hand on his breast, "dat tells me my Mandy is deadl nebber knowed her to break her word befo', wid nobody, much less wid ole Ike. Mandy hain't forgot me, but we'll nebber meet again till we meet wonder on de shinin' shoah. An ebry night pray dat de time won't be long,"
 But you have been contented with out Mandy all these years," said, "so why should you spend your remain ing days in grieving after herr"
 "Maybe I could quit worryin', hon. ey, if it want for dat letter; but hit jis' seems as if de Lord put hope in ole Ike's heart dat He nebber meant to come true!" and the old man looked across the valley with a puzzled look in his bleared eyes.
 "I wish l could help you," I said, with sigh, as l turned to go.
 "T'ank ye, Miss Lucy, but hit ain't in de power ob any pore mortal to do dat-hit jes rests wid de Lord to help mel"
 "How fast he is failingl" remarked Robert, as we walked slowly back to the house. "I don't think he will live | to see another summer"
 "Unless Mandy comes," I said. "I am sorry that letter reached him." added, as I thought of Uncle lke's sor- rowful face.
 Two hours later, as I fingered at my window, 10th to shut out the beauty and sweetness of the night, I heard the sound of Uncle Ike's banjo, and presently he began singing the "Suwanee River" in a low, quavering voice, that gradually rose until it rang out on the still air with & strength and beauty that surprised me.
 "He has found comfort in his banjo tonight" I thought, as the last notes died away, and saw the light go out in the little cabin.
 The cabin is empty now, for in the little garden where the mint and hol- lyhocks grow, Uncle Ike is lying at rest. We found him one morning sit- ting under the maple tree, just as he had often sat in life, his banjo on his knee, his battered hat lying by his side. A meadow-lark was singing in a thicket of alder trees near by, and all the valley was cool and sweet with shadows.
 We buried him just as the early twilight fell, and as we turned from the new made grave, Robert and I, we spoke of the humble, patient life that had just ended, and of the faithfulness with which the old man had served us