It was a scrupulously clean and bright and orderly room, and the invalid in the big white bed bore evidence to the care and attention so dutifully lavished on him. He was a very wizened little old man, and his features had been crossed and recrossed by the finger of Time until their original characteristics were nearly obliterated. The expression upon his face resembled nothing so much as a sketch which has been done over so many times that its first design is altogether lost, and if there was any answer to the riddle, it was not the mental perception of Mrs. Lathrop that was about to seize upon it. Instead, that kindly visitor stood lost in a species of helpless contemplation, until at last a motion of Susan's, directed towards the ordering of an unsightly fold in the wide smoothness of the counterpane, led to her bending herself to do a similar kindness upon her side of the bed. The action resulted in a slight change in her expression which Susan's watchfulness at once perceived. "Was it a needle?" she asked quickly. "Sometimes I stick 'em in while I'm sewin'. You see, his havin' been paralyzed so many years has got me where I'm awful careless about leavin' needles in his bed." "No," said Mrs. Lathrop; "it wasn't a--" "Come on downstairs again," said the hostess; "we c'n talk there." They went down into the kitchen, and there Mrs. Lathrop seated herself and coughed solemnly. "What is it, anyhow?" the younger woman demanded. Mrs. Lathrop coughed again. "Susan, did I feel a feather--" "Yes," said Susan, in great surprise; "he likes one." "I sh'd think it was too hot this--" "He don't never complain o' the heat, 'n' he hates the chill o' rainy days." Mrs. Lathrop coughed again. Miss Clegg's interest bordered on impatience. "Now, Susan, I ain't sayin' as it's noways true, but I _have_ heard as there's them 's can't die on--" "On feathers?" cried the daughter. "Yes; they say they hold the life right in 'n'--" Miss Clegg's eyes opened widely. "But I couldn't take it away from him, anyhow," she said, with a species of determined resignation in her voice. "I'd have to wait 'till he wanted it took." Mrs. Lathrop was silent. Then she rose to go. Susan rose too. They went out the kitchen door together, and down the steps. There they paused to part. "Do you believe 't it 'd be any use me thinkin' o' Jathrop any more?" the maiden asked the matron. "I believe I'd try the blacksmith if I was you; he looks mighty nice Sundays." Miss Clegg sighed heavily and turned to re-enter the house.