good night, I jest sent up a prayer out there on the balcony, a prayer of gratefulness fur all my blessin's. "Dreams is queer stuff, Janet. 'T ain't all as should be counted; but then, ye don't count all the folks an' happenin's that pass ye in yer wakin' hours. But when a dream, or a person, or an idee comes along, as means a comfort or a strengthener, I take it that it is a sort o' duty t' clutch it, an' make it real. When ye ain't got nothin' better, dreams is powerful upliftin' at times. Gum!" David drew his shoulders up and plunged his hands in his pockets, as if about to draw comfort from their depths. "Gum! Janet. 'T ain't often I get duty and pleasure mixed, but ye stop here, an' after I take another look at the lamp, I'm goin' t' run down an' say good night t' Susan Jane. I know how she's lyin' awake, thinkin' an' thinkin' of the past. Dreams don't seem t' come much t' Susan Jane." David paid his visit to the Light, then descended the stairs, while Janet took up the book of poems and turned the pages idly. David's dream and all that had happened seemed to still her. How long she sat by the dim lamplight she took no thought to find out. The words of poem after poem passed under her eyes unheedingly. Once she went into the Light, saw that all was well, and came back to the book. Presently David emerged from the stairway. Janet was facing him, and the expression of his eyes brought her to her feet, and to his side. "Davy, what is it?" she demanded. "He has come!" "Who?" "William Henry! He's taken her!" "No, no! Davy, it is not so, she is only asleep." David shook his head and his eyes had a dumb agony in them. "'T ain't so, Janet! An' she's smilin' like she use t'. I ain't seen that smile on her face in over thirty year. That's the way she use t' look when she heard me comin' in the gloamin', an' thought it was him! No, Janet, she wears--William Henry's smile!" Janet darted past him, but he stayed her. "I want ye should sit by her till sun up. There's a brisk storm settin' in agin, an' 't ain't fit fur ye t' go fur any one; an' I've got t' mind the Light. Stay 'long of her, Janet. I'm glad she ain't got t' suffer any more, or nothin'!" A sob choked the deep voice and seemed to follow the fleeing girl as she ran down the winding stairs. Davy had placed the living-room lamp upon the table by Susan Jane's bed. By its glow, Janet looked upon the woman under the gaudy patchwork quilt. Apparently she had not moved since Janet had placed her there. Without a struggle or pain she had gone forth.