One day towards evening time the old man climbed a ladder to pluck some apples, while Mary stood below with a basket to hold them. "How cold," said James, "this autumn wind is as it whistles over the stubble fields and plays with the yellow leaves and my white hairs. I am in my autumn, my dear child, as you will also be some day. Try to grow like this excellent apple tree, which produces beautiful fruit and in great abundance. Try to please the Master of the great garden which is called the world." On another day Mary was sowing seed for the following spring. "The day will come," said her father, "when we shall be put in the ground, as you are putting these seeds. But let us console ourselves, my dear Mary. As soon as the corn is enfolded in the earth, it is animated. It springs from the earth in the form of a beautiful flower, and rises thus triumphantly from the place where it was buried. So also shall we rise one day from our tombs with splendour and magnificence. When you follow me to the tomb, my dear child, do not mourn for me, but think of the future. In the flowers which you will plant on my grave, try to see the image of the resurrection and immortal life." CHAPTER X. A FATHER'S LAST WORDS. The winter had now set in with threatenings of severity. Already the mountain and valley round about the farm were covered with deep snow. The weakness which old James had been feeling for some time now culminated in a severe illness. Obtaining her father's consent, Mary asked a physician from a neighbouring village to visit him. The doctor came to see James and prescribed for him. Full of foreboding, Mary followed him to the door to ask him if he had any hope of her father's recovery. To this the physician replied that the old man was in no immediate danger, but that he suffered from a disease which would make his recovery as an old man very improbable. It was with difficulty that Mary bore up under the news, and, after the physician had gone, she had a fit of passionate sobbing. For the sake of her father, however, she wiped away her tears, and endeavoured to appear calm before she went to him. During the succeeding days Mary attended her father with the utmost devotion and loving care. Rarely had he to make his requests known, for his daughter could read in his eyes all that he wanted. Mary spent whole nights by his bedside. If at any time she consented to be relieved for a little rest, it was but rarely that she could close her eyes. If her father coughed, she trembled with apprehension; if he made the least stir, she immediately approached him softly and on tiptoe to know how he was. She prepared and brought to him in the most delicate forms the food which best suited his condition. She arranged his pillows from time to time, read to him, and prayed for him continually. Even when he dozed for a little she would stand by his bed with her hands clasped and her tearful eyes raised to heaven.