I could not read it for the tears.
What a pang shot across my heart the afternoon it was whispered
through the town that a body had been washed ashore at Grave
Point--the place where we bathed! We bathed there no more! How well
I remember the funeral, and what a piteous sight it was afterwards
to see his familiar name on a small headstone in the Old South
Burying-Ground!
Poor little Binny Wallace! Always the same to me. The rest of us
have grown up into hard, worldly men, fighting the fight of life;
but you are forever young, and gentle, and pure; a part of my own
childhood that time cannot wither; always a little boy, always poor
little Binny Wallace!
End of Project Gutenberg Etext of The Cruise of the Dolphin, by Aldrich
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