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This was in the early evening, several hours before the scene with which this little story opens. As night came on and the old man sat in the doorway, he did not notice that little Tim, in stretching himself upon the floor, as was his habit, came nearer than usual–so near, indeed, that, extending his little foot, he rested it against his grandfather’s body, too lightly to be felt, and yet sensibly enough to satisfy his own affectionate impulse. And so he was lying when the moon rose and covered the old banjo with its light. He felt very serious as he gazed upon it, standing out so distinctly in the dark room. Some day it would be his; but the dear old grandfather would not be there, his chair would be always empty. There would be nobody in the little cabin but just little Tim and the banjo. He was too young to think of other changes. The ownership of the coveted treasure promised only death and utter loneliness. But presently the light passed off the wall on to the floor. It was creeping over to where little Tim lay, but he did not know it, and after blinking awhile at long intervals, and moving his foot occasionally to reassure himself of his grandfather’s presence, he fell suddenly sound asleep.

While these painful thoughts were filling little Tim’s mind the old man had studied the bright panel on the wall with equal interest–and pain. By the very nature of things he could not leave the banjo to the boy and witness his pleasure in the possession.

“She’s de onlies’ thing I got ter leave ‘im, but I does wush’t I could see him git ‘er an’ be at his little elbow ter show ‘im all ‘er ways,” he said, half audibly. “Dis heah way o’ leavin’ things ter folks when you die, it sounds awful high an’ mighty, but look ter me like hit’s po’ satisfaction some ways. Po’ little Tim! Now what he gwine do anyhow when I draps off?–nothin’ but step-folks ter take keer of ‘im–step-mammy an’ step-daddy an’ ’bout a dozen step brothers an’ sisters, an’ not even me heah ter show ‘im how ter conduc’ ‘is banjo. De ve’y time he need me de mos’ ter show ‘im her ins an’ outs I won’t be nowhars about, an’ yit–“

As the old man’s thoughts reached this point a sudden flare of light across the campus showed that the first bonfire was lighted.

There was to be a big dance to-night in the open space in front of the sugar-house, and the lighting of the bonfires surrounding the spot was the announcement that it was time for everybody to come. It was Uncle Tim’s signal to take down the banjo and tune up, for there was no more important instrument in the plantation string-band than this same old banjo.

As he turned backward to wake little Tim he hesitated a moment, looking lovingly upon the little sleeping figure, which the moon now covered with a white rectangle of light. As his eyes rested upon the boy’s face something, a confused memory of his last waking anxiety perhaps, brought a slight quiver to his lips, as if he might cry in his sleep, while he muttered the word “gran’dad.”

Old Uncle Tim had been trying to get himself to the point of doing something which it was somehow hard to do, but this tremulous lisping of his own name settled the question.

Hobbling to his feet, he wended his way as noiselessly as possible to where the banjo hung, and, carrying it to the sleeping boy, laid it gently, with trembling fingers, upon his arm.

Then, first silently regarding him a moment, he called out, “Weck up, Tim, my man! Weck up!”

As he spoke, a loud and continuous explosion of fire-crackers–the opening of active festivities in the campus–startled the boy quite out of his nap.