It was a little strange that they knew the Colonel’s household habits, for he lived alone with an aged housekeeper and her husband, and it was only at long intervals that he opened his doors to his friends, albeit he was justly proud of the frequent honor he enjoyed of “drinking a dish of tea” at the Mountain Place, and on these occasions he never forgot to be strictly impartial in his attentions, and addressed his conversation first to one, then to the other of the sisters. Like the entire village population, he was well aware that to these ladies everyone looked for advice, and indeed for intelligent nursing. So frequent were the midnight calls for services that one of the servant’s regular duties was the disposition at nightfall of their hoods, cloaks, and lantern conveniently near the front door. A reference to this formed a staple joke between the friends, and Letitia frequently asserted (and it was repeated by Honora) that in case of illness at “Moss Farm,” they would consider themselves engaged. Perhaps the good Colonel had more than a jest at heart when he referred to the matter, for the ills of life come surely in train of age, and the summons reached Mountain Place on an early morning of September. It was a shock to the ladies, this forerunner of a parting from one who had been so stanch a friend, and so inconsiderate a visitor, as their brother insisted. Just as the carryall came in sight of the Colonel’s homestead, the first twitter of awakening birds brought a new sense of life and activity into the world. The dark forest behind the house sent forth a thousand notes of welcome to the day, and the clear spring, where the old horse turned to drink, added its gentle murmur. Mrs. Mountain was touched, her eyes moistened. “Alas!” she said, noting the movement of the old gray, “the world never stops for any of us. The birds sing, the horse wants to drink, the sunlight flashes over the farm, just as if the good man that has lived so long to lighten the cares of others, was not passing away.” “Passing away! Yes, passing away,” and the solemn voice of her sister, seemed like an echo from the hills. It was the usual trouble, a shock of paralysis, and the faithful doctor gave little encouragement, yet he thought it possible the Colonel’s speech might become clear again, and when the stupor that enthralled the poor man had passed, the pale eye wandered about the room. Words were unnecessary, the watchers understood that he wanted a hand laid in his own, and Letitia gently slid her soft palm beneath the chilled fingers. Honora as promptly took her place at the other side, stroking the withered arm that lay motionless upon the bed.