I pictured those happy, peaceful days when Gran'pa had nodded at his unrejuvenated ease by the fireside--and life had been one smooth, eventless stream of comfort and solace after the day's work. To think that this chaotic disturbance should have been caused by a mere couple of innocent looking thyroid glands! To think that, after all these years, dear, motherly old Nanny was going to leave us to fend for ourselves--or to leave us to the mercy of some cold-blooded, professional housekeeper. With a sigh, I drew up my chair before the fire, and prepared to pass a night of comfortless dozings and painful cogitations on the future. About one o'clock I woke with a start from an evil dream in which Gran'pa figured as a wild man of the woods, pursuing innocent children and hurrying them to some terrible and uncertain doom. In his cave were scattered the whitened remains of little human bones. . . . At two o'clock I shook off the vestiges of a pitiful scene in which the old man had been lying in a great four-poster bed, with his long gray beard streaming over a red and yellow counterpane. "I'm . . . dying, George!" he had whispered. Scared and shaken, I sprang to my feet and determined to make still another appeal to his better nature. The rain had ceased and a full moon shed its cold and pitiless light on the scene as I stood remonstrating and pleading with him. "I'll apologize for everything, if you'll only come indoors," I said, humbly. "No! . . . Go away!" "Can I . . . bring you anything hot to drink?" I asked. He made no answer; but, full of hope, I hurried into the house again, lighted the gas stove, and heated up a pint of milk, which I poured into a large jug, adding a tablespoonful of Bovril to the steaming contents. With happy inspiration, I also half-filled a tumbler with neat whiskey. Surely such tokens of affectionate consideration would move him! But no! For a moment or two he stood eying the jug and glass, which I had fearfully placed on the threshold of his retreat. "The one's milk and Bovril, and the other's whiskey. . . ." I said encouragingly. He advanced a few steps, hesitated, and then suddenly picked up the jug and flung its contents at me. "You ungrateful old beast!" I cried, as the hot liquid struck my face. "Get away, then!" Stooping down, he seized the glass in his right hand, and I hurriedly backed to a safer distance. A second or so later the glass was empty; but instead of the whiskey joining the little rivulets of milk running down my clothes, it was securely inside Gran'pa, who was smacking his lips appreciatively. "Thank you--George!" he gulped. "Now, do come indoors!" I pleaded, with great self-control. "No. . . ." he growled. I could see that he was weakening, however, and I took advantage of the fact. "It's only two o'clock," I went on. "That means another six hours until breakfast time--six hours before it's even light." The thought of it made me shudder.