If I needed a stimulant, how much more did he? We had two whiskies each, partly recovered our composure, and then went home. There Gran'pa sank into his chair with a sigh and called Molly over to him. "A little kiss, Mollikins," he said. "That's better. . . ." And then: "I'm tired out, George; and I've no appetite for dinner. I think I'll have a basin of bread and milk and go straight to bed. That medical examination has rather unnerved me." "Oh, you mustn't think about it. You'll be all right after a night's rest." "It isn't the . . . job itself. It's the thought that perhaps . . ." He pulled himself together. "Molly! A bowl of nice hot bread and milk--made by your own hands." Molly--who could never be accused of being merely ornamental--adjourned to the kitchen, and presently returned with Gran'pa's last supper under the old régime. He ate it a trifle sibilantly, and very thoughtfully, Molly insisting on kneeling by his side and holding the bowl as if it were an offering. I admired her tact and motherly concern. "Night-night!" he said, at last. "I shall give you ten minutes only," cautioned Molly. "And then I shall come up and tuck you in--and you can tell me a story." Gran'pa chuckled. "Neither of us deserves her, George," he whispered, as he went by me. "She's worth half-a-dozen whiskies as a pick-me-up." He shuffled out of the room in his carpet slippers and Molly glanced at the clock to note the time. "Daddy," she asked, "when's he going to the doctor?" "To-morrow, dear." "Is it . . . _very_ dangerous?" "No! Not a bit! You mustn't worry. He'll soon be home again." She took my hand, and looked at his empty chair by the fireside. It seemed as if some dread shadow had fallen on us. I realized how much poor old Gran'pa had become part of the house, the furniture, and even of ourselves--how keenly we should miss him during his absence in the nursing home. The thought of the one-in-a-hundred chance of his dying was intolerable. I refused to dwell on it. Neither would I let Molly. "You'll have great times when he does return," I said. "I know! He's been telling me simply heaps of things he's going to do." She grew more cheerful at the thought of this--but still kept a watchful eye on the clock. "Time's up!" she exclaimed at last. A moment or two later I could hear creaking movements upstairs and the faint rumble of Gran'pa's voice as he began telling her a story. I listened for several minutes; and then silence descended--and so did Molly. "He's gone to sleep," she half-whispered. "He often does that when he's story-telling." "Just as well, my child. . . . Now for dinner!" The meal passed quietly and a little sadly. Try as I would, it seemed impossible to shake off the air of anxiety which had settled on us. But the next morning everyone was bright and cheerful again. It may have been due to the bustle and excitement--and the really excellent breakfast which Nanny had prepared for us.