Meanwhile, the faithful Burl had borne his wounded master to the banks of a forest brook which ran hard by, and had set him down, reclined against the trunk of a tree. Then he took his powder-horn, having emptied its contents into his ammunition-pouch, and filling it from the stream, gave his master to drink--the clear, cool, sparkling water, so refreshing to the tired and thirsty, but to the wounded man sweet and grateful beyond expression. When he had drained the flask and revived a little, that hapless hunter thus addressed his slave: "Burl, you have ever been faithful to me. Have I been as kind to you?" A big sob was the only answer, but it came from the depths of the heart, and said "Yes" a hundred times. "Then, be faithful still. You have a brave heart and a strong arm, and to your support and protection must I, in some sort, leave my poor wife and child. Then give me your word, your solemn promise, that you will be as faithful to Miss Jemima as you have been to me; and that you will take good care of her fatherless boy, till he be old and strong enough to shift for himself and for his mother, too. Do you give me your promise?" "O master!" Burl at length sobbed out, "it ain't much a pore nigger kin do fur White folks in dat way; but what I kin do I will do, an' won't never stop a doin' it." Here, with a blubbering expression of grief, the poor fellow broke down. "Your hand upon it, my good old boy," whispered the dying hunter, his breath now almost gone. "Bid Miss Jemima and dear little Bushie good-by for me, and carry them my dying blessing." In pledge of the promise, never to be broken, Burl took the hand that was now powerless to take his, and held it till death had fixed its answering grasp and the hunter was gone to find another paradise. Then he laid his master's body upon the streamlet's brink, to wash away the blood. How gently the huge hand laved the gory locks and dashed the soft water into the dead, pale face! It was a stern, rugged, weather-beaten face; but the light of the last loving thoughts still lingered upon it, lending it a beauty in death which it had never known in life. This part of his pious duty duly done, then tenderly in his mighty arms he took up the precious burden and laid it across his shoulder to bear it to the distant home. Through the fast lengthening shadows of sunset, through the glimmering shades of twilight, through the melancholy starlight, through woods, woods, woods, he bore it, till the lamp that always burned at the little square window, when the hunter was abroad in the night, was spied from afar, telling that the faithful, loving heart was waiting and watching as she should never wait and watch again.