This room was even cosier than the two below; its curtains and paper cheerfuller; its furniture of quainter and more hospitable aspect; its windows letting in more light and air; everything clean and homely, and pleasant for weary, suffering eyes to look upon.
Abram was propped up in bed, his dark, intelligent face worn to a shadow, fiery spots breaking through the tawny hue upon cheeks and lips, his eyes bright with fever.

Surrey saw, as he came and sat beside him, that for him earthly sorrow and toil were almost ended.
He had brought some fruit and flowers, and a little book.

This last Abram, having thanked him eagerly for all, stretched out his hand to examine.
"You see, Mr.Willie, I have not gotten over my old love," he said, as his fingers closed upon it.

"Whittier?
'In War-Time'?
That is fine.

I can read about it, if I can't do anything in it," and he lay for a while quietly turning over the pages.