GRANDFATHER began to fail. He complained of no pain or distress; but his stately figure seemed to shrink, and his head that he used to hold so high was now bowed on his breast, and he began to creep and shuffle in his walk. Widow Peace said the change had begun when he came back from the vain search for his graceless son, and I think it was true. “He won’t more than last out the winter,” said Mrs. Peace, “if he does that. The Merions don’t run much above seventy.” “Don’t, mother!” said Anne. “Don’ting won’t stop the course of nature,” said her mother, “nor yet is it proper you should say ‘Don’t’ to me, Anne Peace.” “I beg your pardon, mother; I meant no harm.” “No more you did, daughter. You may hand me the tape measure. Anne, if you can tell me how to cut this dress so as to make Mis’ Broadback look like anything besides Behemoth in the Bible I shall be obliged to you.” “You’re real funny, mother!” said Anne, who never quite understood her parent. “Fun keeps the fiddle going!” said Mrs. Peace. “You may cut them gores if you’re a mind to, Anne. There’s Rachel and Manuel goin’ off again. S’pose they’re goin’ to make a match of it?” “Oh, mother!” said little Anne. “‘Oh,’ said the owl, and set up a hootin’, But Jabez kept still when he done the shootin’.” What does Grandmother do these days? I haven’t seen her go out of the gate for a week and more. You were over this morning, wasn’t you?” “Yes,” said Anne. “Oh, mother, she just sits by Grandfather all the time—when her work is done, that’s to say; Grandmother never slights anything; sits by him all day, reading to him when he’s awake, or talking, or singing those little songs he likes; and when he drops off asleep she just reaches for her sewing and sits and waits till he wakes up. And she’s growing so white and thin—there! it just makes me ache to see her. I said to her ‘Grandmother,’ I said, ‘when he drops off asleep that way, you’d ought to slip out into the garden for a mouthful of air, even if you don’t go no further. Rachel can stay round,’ I said, ‘case he should want anything,’ I said. But she just shook her head. ‘No, Anne!’ she says. ‘I must be here,’ she says. ‘He has been so good to me; so good to me; he must always find me here when he wants me.’ “And sure enough, mother, directly he woke up, before he opened his eyes he says ‘You here, Grandmother?’ kinder restless like, and she says ‘Yes, Grandfather, right here!’ and laid her hand on his and began to sing, and he smiled real happy and contented, said he didn’t want anything except just to know that she was there. But, mother, ’tis a sweet pretty sight now, to see them two together. Of course he’s an old man and she’s a young girl, but yet—well, they aren’t like other folks, neither one of them. What makes you look like that, mother?” “Nobody ever was like other folks that ever I heard of,” said Widow Peace rather grimly. “Now you be quiet, Anne Peace. Here comes Rachel.”