I ran all the way to the station house and back--a mile or more--and brought the paper and a pen and ink, besides.

It was but a telegraph blank--all I could find.

Naught but a telegraph blank, lad." Again his voice trailed away into a mumbling whisper, but now Uncle John and Donald looked into one another's eyes with sudden interest.
"He mustn't die yet!" said the little man; and the coachman leaned over the wounded form and said, distinctly: "Yes, lad; I'm listening." "To be sure," said James, brightening a bit.

"So I held the paper for him, and the brakeman supported Master Tom's poor body, and he wrote out the will as clear as may be." "The will!" "Sure enough; Master Tom's last will.

Isn't my name on it, too, where I signed it?
And the conductor's beside it, for the poor brakeman didn't dare let him go?
Of course.