Mona went on with her ironing, and granny went on staring into the fire, and neither spoke again for some time. Not until Mona, going over to take up a fresh hot iron, saw something bright shining on her grandmother's cheek, then fall on to her hand. "Are you feeling bad again, granny?" she asked anxiously. The sight of the tear touched her, and brought a note of sympathy into her voice, and the sympathy in her voice in turn touched her granny, and drew both together. "No--I don't know that I'm feeling worse than usual, but--but, well I feel that it'd be a good thing if my time was ended. I'm only a trouble and a burden now--no more help for anybody." "Granny! Granny! You mustn't say such things!" Mona dropped her iron back on the stove again, and threw herself on the floor beside her grandmother. "You mustn't talk like that! You're weak, that's all. You want to rest for a bit and have some tonics. Mrs. Lane says so." "Does she? I seem to want something," leaning her weary head against Mona's, "but it's more than tonics--it's a new body that I'm needing, I reckon. I daresay it's only foolishness, but sometimes I feel like a little child, I want to be took care of, and someone to make much of me, and say like mother used to, 'Now leave everything to me. I'll see to it all!' It seems to me one wants a bit of petting when one comes to the end of one's life, as much as one does at the beginning--I don't know but what a little is good for one at any age." Mona slipped down till she sat on the floor at her granny's feet, her head resting against granny's knee. "I think so too," she said wistfully. Silence fell between them, broken only by the crackling of the fire within and the buzz of insects, and the calling of the birds, outside in the garden. "Mona, how would you like it if we went into Seacombe to live?" Mona was up in a moment, her face alight with eagerness, but some instinct stopped her from expressing too much delight. In the softened feeling which had crept into her heart, she realised that to her grandmother the move would mean a great wrench. "She must love Hillside as much, or _nearly_ as much as I love Seacombe," she told herself. Aloud she said, "I'd like it, but you wouldn't, would you, granny?" "I think I would. I'd like to be nearer your father, and--and you would be happy there, and perhaps you'd feel stronger. I'm getting to feel," she added after a little pause, "that one can be happy anywhere, if those about one are happy. Or, to put it another way, one can't be happy anywhere if those about one ain't happy." Mona felt very guilty. "Granny," she said, but in rather a choky voice, "I'll be happy here, if you'd rather stay here--I will really. I do love Hillside--it's only the sea I miss, and the fun, and--and the excitement when the boats come in--but I shall forget all about it soon, and I'll be happy here too, if you'd like to stay."