And so two years went by--two years like those of any boy's life--playing along the wharfs, climbing into orchards, talking with the fishermen, swimming, racing, fighting, and all. But my poor mother could now hardly leave her room; she passed most of her time in a chair by the window waiting for me, I take it. The people were very kind to her, and the doctor who lived near the inn used to come and see her frequently. Major Taliaferro (pronounced "Tolliver") was a devoted attendant; he was Captain of the county train-band. He and I grew very friendly; by-the-way, he was the officer who was so polite to us on the stage-coach. One afternoon when I returned from school I found my mother sitting talking to a gentleman whom I recognized as a Mr. Edgerton, a well-known lawyer of the neighborhood (he afterwards went to the Legislature, I might record, and became well known). Upon my entrance the gentleman regarded me most curiously, and when he left bowed low at the door. The next week was to be the saddest and perhaps the most misfortunate of all my life. I was seated on the hard little bench in Mr. Thompson's school-room, longing to be back once more with my old gun and my boat paddling along the marshy shore of the Gunpowder, when a shadow fell across the threshold. I looked up; it was the doctor. I cannot recollect his name, which is a pity, as I would like to set it down; but he was a kind man, and I am grateful to him. He stepped quickly to Mr. Thompson's side and whispered a few words in his ear. The latter coughed and looked at me over the great bows of his spectacles; then he called my name. The doctor caught me by the hand, and I followed him out into the sunny street. "Be a brave lad; be a brave lad, John," he repeated. He almost dragged me up the road, so fast he walked, and a nameless fear coming into my heart, I began to sob aloud. There were two or three people gathered in front of our little house. Back in the garden I saw a strange sight. It was Ol' Peter leaning across the picket-fence; his head was bowed on his arms, and his shoulders were moving up and down. The people spoke in whispers as we went up the little path. Once inside the door the doctor bent down and kissed me on the forehead. "Be a brave lad, my son," he said. "Your mother has left us"-- He turned away without finishing something he was going to say. It did not require the sight of Aunt Sheba's tearful face beside me to tell what had happened. I knew it with a chill all through me; boy that I was, I fainted dead away. After a while, when I came to myself, they brought me to the room and left me there. The second day afterwards was the funeral. It seemed to me that all of the town was present--from curiosity, mayhap, the largest part; yet, since she had come to the town, my mother's gentle manner had made her many friends. The doctor said she had long suffered from trouble of the heart.