With the waywardness natural to people in his condition, Uncle Joseph that night turned to Maddy for the little services his sister had formerly rendered, and which, since her illness, Grandpa Markham had done, and would willingly do still. But Joseph refused to let him. Maddy must untie his cravat, unbutton his vest, and take off his shoes, and after he was in bed, Maddy must sit by his side holding his hand until he fell away to sleep. And Maddy did it cheerfully, soothing him into quiet, and keeping back her own choking sorrow for the sake of comforting him. Then, when this task was done, she sought her grandfather, still sitting before the kitchen fire and evidently waiting for her. The little hired girl had retired, and thus there was no barrier to free conversation between them. “Maddy,” the old man said, “come sit close by me, where I can look into your face, while we talk over what must be done.” With a half shudder, Maddy drew a stool to her grandfather’s feet, and resting her head upon his knee, listened while he talked to her of the future, and told her all her grandmother had done; told of his own helplessness; of the trial it was to care for Uncle Joseph, and then in faltering tones asked who was going to look after them now. “We can’t live here alone, Maddy. We can’t. We’re old and weak, and want some one to lean on. Oh, why didn’t God take us with her, Joseph and me, and that would leave you free, to go back to the school, and the life which I know is pleasanter than to stay here with us. Oh, Maddy! it comforts me to look at you—to hear your voice, to know that though I don’t see you every minute, you are somewhere, and by and by you’ll come in. _I_ shan’t live long, and maybe Joseph won’t. God’s promise is to them who honor father and mother. It’ll be hard for you to stay, harder than it was once; but, Maddy! stay with me, stay with me!—stay with your old grandpa!”