in the vale of sorrers.  He has done generous by these yer poor little lambs that he loved and sheltered, and that's left fatherless and motherless.  Yes, and we that knowed him knows that he would a done _more_ generous by 'em if he hadn't ben afeard o' woundin' his dear William and me.  Now, _wouldn't_ he?  Ther' ain't no question 'bout it in _my_ mind.  Well, then, what kind o' brothers would it be that 'd stand in his way at sech a time?  And what kind o' uncles would it be that 'd rob--yes, _rob_--sech poor sweet lambs as these 'at he loved so at sech a time?  If I know William--and I _think_ I do--he--well, I'll jest ask him.” He turns around and begins to make a lot of signs to the duke with his hands, and the duke he looks at him stupid and leather-headed a while; then all of a sudden he seems to catch his meaning, and jumps for the king, goo-gooing with all his might for joy, and hugs him about fifteen times before he lets up.  Then the king says, “I knowed it; I reckon _that 'll_ convince anybody the way _he_ feels about it.  Here, Mary Jane, Susan, Joanner, take the money--take it _all_.  It's the gift of him that lays yonder, cold but joyful.” Mary Jane she went for him, Susan and the hare-lip went for the duke, and then such another hugging and kissing I never see yet.  And everybody crowded up with the tears in their eyes, and most shook the hands off of them frauds, saying all the time: “You _dear_ good souls!--how _lovely_!--how _could_ you!” Well, then, pretty soon all hands got to talking about the diseased again, and how good he was, and what a loss he was, and all that; and before long a big iron-jawed man worked himself in there from outside, and stood a-listening and looking, and not saying anything; and nobody saying anything to him either, because the king was talking and they was all busy listening.  The king was saying--in the middle of something he'd started in on-- “--they bein' partickler friends o' the diseased.  That's why they're