Mrs. Fairfield began counting the stitches in threes. “It just happened,” she said in an absorbed voice. “Does everybody have to die?” asked Kezia. “Everybody!” “_Me?_” Kezia sounded fearfully incredulous. “Some day, my darling.” “But, grandma.” Kezia waved her left leg and waggled the toes. They felt sandy. “What if I just won’t?” The old woman sighed again and drew a long thread from the ball. “We’re not asked, Kezia,” she said sadly. “It happens to all of us sooner or later.” Kezia lay still thinking this over. She didn’t want to die. It meant she would have to leave here, leave everywhere, for ever, leave—leave her grandma. She rolled over quickly. “Grandma,” she said in a startled voice. “What, my pet!” “_You’re_ not to die.” Kezia was very decided. “Ah, Kezia”—her grandma looked up and smiled and shook her head—“don’t let’s talk about it.” “But you’re not to. You couldn’t leave me. You couldn’t not be there.” This was awful. “Promise me you won’t ever do it, grandma,” pleaded Kezia. The old woman went on knitting. “Promise me! Say never!” But still her grandma was silent. Kezia rolled off her bed; she couldn’t bear it any longer, and lightly she leapt on to her grandma’s knees, clasped her hands round the old woman’s throat and began kissing her, under the chin, behind the ear, and blowing down her neck. “Say never... say never... say never—” She gasped between the kisses. And then she began, very softly and lightly, to tickle her grandma. “Kezia!” The old woman dropped her knitting. She swung back in the rocker. She began to tickle Kezia. “Say never, say never, say never,” gurgled Kezia, while they lay there laughing in each other’s arms. “Come, that’s enough, my squirrel! That’s enough, my wild pony!” said old Mrs. Fairfield, setting her cap straight. “Pick up my knitting.” Both of them had forgotten what the “never” was about. VIII The sun was still full on the garden when the back door of the Burnells’ shut with a bang, and a very gay figure walked down the path to the gate. It was Alice, the servant-girl, dressed for her afternoon out. She wore a white cotton dress with such large red spots on it and so many that they made you shudder, white shoes and a leghorn turned up under the brim with poppies. Of course she wore gloves, white ones, stained at the fastenings with iron-mould, and in one hand she carried a very dashed-looking sunshade which she referred to as her “_perishall_.”