Oh, we'll drink outer de healin' fountain, by en bye, lil' chillun, We'll drink outer de healin' fountain by en bye." "Sally!" I called aloud, and my voice sounded thin and distant in my own ears. There was the sound of quick steps, the door opened and shut, and Sally came in and leaned over me. She wore a blue gingham apron over her dress, her sleeves were rolled up, and her hand, when it touched my face, felt warm and soft as if it had been plunged into hot soapsuds. Then my eyes fell on a jagged burn on her wrist. "What is that?" I asked, pointing to it. "You've hurt yourself." "Oh, Ben, my dearest, are you really awake?" "What is that, Sally? You have hurt yourself." "I burned my hand on the stove--it is nothing. Dearest, are you better? Wait. Don't speak till you take your nourishment." She went out, returning a moment later with a glass of milk and whiskey, which she held to my lips, sitting on the bedside, with her arm slipped under my pillow. "How long have I been ill, Sally?" "Several weeks. You became conscious and then had a relapse. Do you remember?" "No, I remember nothing." "Well, don't talk. Everything is all right--and I'm so happy to have you alive I could sing the Jubilee, as Aunt Euphronasia says." "Several weeks and there was no money! Of course, you went to the General, Sally--but I forgot, the General is away. You went to somebody, though. Surely you got help?" "Oh, I managed, Ben. There's nothing to worry about now that you are better. I feel that there'll never be anything to worry about again." "But several weeks, Sally, and I lying like a log, and the General away! What did you do?" "I nursed you for one thing, and gave you medicine and chicken broth and milk and whiskey. Now, I shan't talk any more until the doctor comes. Lie quiet and try to sleep." But the jagged burn on her wrist still held my gaze, and catching her hand as she turned away, I pressed my lips to it with all my strength. "Your hand feels so queer, Sally. It's as red as if it had been scalded." "I've been cooking my dinner, and you see I eat a great deal. There, now, that's positively my last word." Bending over, she kissed me hurriedly, a tear fell on my face, and then before I could catch the fluttering hem of her apron, she had broken from me, and gone out, closing the door after her. For a minute I lay perfectly motionless, too weak for thought. Then opening my eyes with an effort, I stared straight up at the white ceiling, against which a green June beetle was knocking with a persistent, buzzing sound that seemed an accompaniment to the crooning lullaby of Aunt Euphronasia. "Oh, we'se all gwine home ter glory, by en bye, lil' chillun, We'se all gwine home ter glory, by en bye."