of course, all of us were crying, “Poor grandpa! Poor grandpa!” Then he recovered himself again, and, opening his eyes, said:
“Don’t throw away my white rag-friend; place it on my breast when you bury me.” He then looked at his wife as if he wanted to say something, but his voice failed. Then the doctor said, “He has spoken his last words, he has given his last look, his spirit is gone; watch his lips,—he will speak as he enters the Spirit-land”; and so he did, at least he seemed to. His lips moved as if he was whispering. We were then told by the doctor that he was in heaven, and we all knew he was. No one who knew him would doubt it. But how can I describe the scene fiat followed? Some of you, dear reader, can imagine. Every one threw themselves upon his body, and their cues could be heard for many a mile. I crept up to him. I could hardly believe he would never speak to me again. I knelt beside him, and took his dear old face in my hands, and looked at him quite a while. I could not speak. I felt the world growing cold; everything seemed dark. The great light had gone out. I had father, mother, brothers, and sisters; it seemed I would rather lose all of them than my poor grandpa. I was only a simple child, yet I knew what a great man he was. I mean great in principle. I knew how necessary it was for our good that he should live. I think if he had put out his hands and asked me to go with him, I would gladly have folded myself in his arms. And now, after long years of toil and trouble, I think if our great Father had seen fit to call me with him, I could have died with a better opinion of the world.
In regard to the doctor’s saying, “He will speak as he enters the Spirit-land,” I wish to say it is the belief of my people that the spirit speaks as it goes in. They say if a child has a mother or a father in the Spirit-land, he will cry as his soul enters.
