“We don’t see anybody nowadays; we go nowhere, and nobody comes to see us. The friends we had in more prosperous days have deserted us; there is nothing about us to attract people. Some seem to shun us through fear that we may beg, but never, never; we would starve first. My old man is too proud to beg. I live in fear that he may get so feeble that he cannot go and that we will have nothing. He often says that he hopes he will die some night after fishing all day. If he does, I want to go too.” “Do you ever go to church?” “No, Mister; we haven’t been in goin’ on ten years. We have no fit clothes. The churches look too fine inside for our old rags, but we read our old Bible every Sunday. We can’t read much now; our eyes are bad; but we get much comfort out of the Good Book. “The Church folks don’t ever come to see us. They don’t need us, as we ain’t got no money to give. I guess when we die some good preacher will say a word over our graves; I don’t know.” This said, the old woman moved on toward the river, craning her neck as she went, so that she could see to the right of a clump of trees that stood near the water, looking for her husband, but she must not have seen him, for she soon passed back on her way home. Becoming interested in what she said, I made up my mind to remain there till the old gentleman arrived and look him over. I had a long wait, for it was almost dark when his little boat hove in sight. His wife had been back and looked up the river several times. She seemed lonely, restless and uneasy. I felt sorry for the old woman, but was afraid to say so. It was, as she said, a bitter fight for existence. The aged pair had no associates, and actually suffered from poverty. The last time she came to the landing she carried in her arms a tiny, toothless, starved dog. “Is that your pet?” said I, anxious to reopen the conversation. “Yes, he’s nearly twenty-two years old, and has been ours since a pup.” “He is very old,” I declared, for the want of something better. “Yes; and blind, and toothless.” “Why do you keep him?” “For what he has been. It would be cruel to kill him or desert him now, when he cannot take care of himself. I shall keep him until he dies, unless I go first. When he was younger he kept me company, and guarded our little home, when my old man was down the river for days and nights at a time, and now, if God spares me, I will see him through. I have to make a sort of soup for him to eat, and guide his footsteps. I do not think he is here for much longer; he is getting very thin and frail.” She let him down on the ground by her side, and said: “Fido, do you love your mistress?” and the grateful little brute shook his tail.