It was old Joe who saw most clearly, in spite of the dimness of his sight for other things, that little Stephen was fading away. The evenings were long and light now, and the old man and the children spent more time together than before. The two graves were covered with flowers, and old Joe had taken Stephen's place in helping Audrey to water them and to take care of them. Stephen was too weak even to lift his own little can. But Joe would carry him in his arms to look at them, and to smell the roses which were growing on a little rose-bush, which he had given him to plant on the grave of the two grandchildren. Yet tears would often come into the old man's eyes as he looked at the child. He had had no one to love him or to care for him till the children had found him, and now one of them was going to leave him. "Joe," said Stephen to him one day, "you'll take care of the grave for me if I go away." "Yes, Stephie, yes, to be sure I will," said the old man, as he wiped away the tears which would come in his eyes. But he never asked him where he was going, or when. He knew, and Stephen knew, that the Child of Light was on his way to the Home of Light, where darkness cannot come. He could not help speaking of it that night, when Mr. Robin brought him his supper, that he might eat it under the lilac tree. "The little lad's going fast," he said, with a sob. "What little lad? Not Stephie!" said Mr. Robin. "He is, though," said the old man; "and what's more, he knows it hisself." It was only old Joe's fancy, Mr. Robin said, when he mentioned it to his wife, but still he did think Stephen's father should let a doctor see him. Stephen's father was spoken to, and at once went off for the best doctor in the old city. But the doctor told them just what the old man had told them before—that Stephen was going fast. He might pick up a bit if cooler weather came, but he would never outlive the summer, he said. Stephen had heard the doctor's words, and leaving his father and Mr. Robin together, he crept away to Granny Robin's window. "May I come in and sit on your knee, Granny Robin?" he said. "Yes, my little darling," said the old woman, as she felt for the window, that she might help him in. "Now we're cosy," said Stephen, as the old woman laid aside her knitting and took him in her arms. "Granny Robin, I've come to tell you a secret." "What is it, Stephie?" "I'm going to die young, Granny Robin." "Oh, I hope not, my dear child!" she said, as she stroked his little thin face. "Yes, the doctor said so," said Stephen gravely. "And you said it was a good thing for the two grandchildren, Granny Robin." "Yes, it will be a good thing for you, Stephie," she said; "but oh, what shall we do without you? Whatever shall we all do without you?" And Granny Robin broke down at this, and sobbed as if her heart would break.