242 CRUSOE'S ISLAND. 



boat, limp, apparently lifeless, and for half an hour 

 worked over him, trying to win back the breath of 

 life. Then, having made no progress, I cut the 

 anchor rope and hastened for the shore, where I 

 stretched him beneath the palms and renewed my 

 efforts. At last a feeble flutter of an eyelid rewarded 

 me ; but the grayish pallor of the honest face caused 

 my hopes to sink, even as a faint whisper issued from 

 the ashen lips : 



" Me massa, dis — am — de — las' call fer — Thomas 

 — Ned. God — bless — bless — massa ! Bury me — near 

 — de seaside house, — massa. T'ank de good God 

 — um — go — fus' ! Me 'f raid dat — dat — um leab — 

 'lone." 



He groped aimlessly for something, his eyes fast 

 glazing, finally found and seized my hand, drew it to 

 his lips, and so passed away — devoted, faithful, to 

 the very last. 



Next day at sunset I placed him in the grave I 

 dug beneath the palm trees where the hut had stood. 

 My heart was sore and heavy, for I felt that one 

 tie had been severed that had bound me to this 

 spot. Until death comes into our experience we 

 have no conception of the true range and scope 

 of life — its depth and breadth. Until this happens 

 to us we are like to take but superfcial views of 

 our responsibilities and surroundings; after this 

 happens our horizon widens and our sympathies ex- 

 pand. 



Thus it was, perhaps, that, deprived of his com- 

 panionship, humble though it had been, I was now 



