Well, I want to ask a last favour of you, nephew. I want you
to see that I am buried beside your mother up at Syracuse. Just have a
simple funeral, my boy. No fuss, no flowers, no singing. Then take me
up to the old burying ground and--and I won't bother any one after
that. I suppose it will cost you something to do it, but--but if you
knew how much it will mean to me now if I have your promise to--"
"Sh!" whispered Mr. Bingle. "Don't talk of dying, Uncle Joe. Don't
speak of graveyards while--"
"Will you promise? That's the question," said Uncle Joe stubbornly.
"Yes," said Mr. Bingle painfully; "when the time comes I'll lay you
beside my mother. Don't worry about it, Uncle Joe."
"I hate to put you to the expense of--"
"Pooh!" said Mr. Bingle, as if the cost of the thing was the merest
trifle to him.
"If I were to live for a thousand years, Tom, I could never find the
means to adequately compensate you and Mary for the joy and comfort
you have given me at so great a cost to yourselves. By dying, I may be
able to make your load lighter, so I am going to die as quickly as the
doctor will allow me to do so.
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