"Get me some coffee, Josiah," he said. "I am like your watch, losing time
and everything else."
Josiah stood over him. His unnatural depression troubled a simple mind
made sensitive by a limitless affection and dog-like power to feel
without comprehending the moods of the master.
"Captain John, you was sayin' to me yesterday you was most unfortunate. I
just went away and kept a kind of thinkin' about it."
"Well, what conclusion did you come to?" He spoke wearily.
"Oh, I just wondered if you'd like to change with me--guess you wouldn't
for all the pain?"
Surprised at the man's reflection, John looked up at the black kindly
face. "Get me some coffee."
"Yes, sir--what's that?" The morning gun rang out the sunrise hour.
"What's that, sir?" The flag was being hoisted on the slope below them.
"It's stopped at half-mast, sir! Who's dead now?"
"Go and ask, Josiah." McGregor came up as he spoke.
"The President was killed last night, John, by an assassin!"
"Lincoln killed!"
"Yes--I will tell you by and by--now this is all we know. I must make my
rounds. We leave to-morrow for home."
John sat alone. This measureless calamity had at once on the
thoughtful young soldier the effect of lessening the influences of
his over-sensitive surrender to pain and its attendant power to weaken
self-control.
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