“I don’t want to hear anything about him, and I’ve only got one thing to say about him myself. You better not let him listen to his mother when he learns to talk, or to Harlan either—not if you want to save him from that affected Eastern way of talking. You’ve had enough to do with Eastern people, young man! You take care of yourself and have as little to do with ’em after this as you can manage. They may seem mighty fine and highty-tighty, and let you think it’s a great thing to be _in_ with ’em, but all they’re after is to get something out of you; and after they’ve got it, they’ll give you the go-by quick enough! Now I haven’t got strength enough to talk very long, and I don’t want to talk any more about your baby.” “All right,” he said submissively. “What do you want to talk about, grandma?” She turned her head on the pillow to look at him; and it seemed to him that her eyes were vague, as if they found him indistinct;—she frowned plaintively in an effort to see him more clearly, and was silent for a time. “It’s Dan, is it?” she said finally. “Why, yes, grandma,” he answered in surprise. “We’ve just been talkin’ about the baby, grandma; and how much better you are and everything.” “I know,” she returned with a feeble petulance. “I know what we’re talking about. I wanted you to come to-night because I want to tell you something.” “Yes, grandma?” “It’s this,” she said; then closed her eyes, and when she opened them, asked again: “Is it Dan?” “Why, yes, of course, grandma! You just said——” “_I_ know what I said! I wanted to tell you—to tell you——” “Yes, grandma,” he said, and added indulgently, “Tell me anything you like to.” “I wanted to tell you not to mind,” she went on. “You mustn’t mind anything that happens. I mean anything I have to do with.” “No; of course,” he returned without any idea of what she might mean. “Of course I won’t. I won’t mind it.” “You must be _sure_ not to,” she insisted. “You won’t understand, but you mustn’t let it make you feel hurt with me. You mustn’t——” “Of course I won’t. Why, I’d never dream of feelin’ hurt with you about anything in the world, grandma.” “Listen, Dan. I’ve always liked you best since you were a little boy. If you don’t understand something that happens, you remember I said this, will you? What may happen is for your own good and to help you, though it may seem just the other way to you. Will you promise to remember?” “Of course,” he returned promptly; but she was not satisfied. “No; I want you to think what you’re saying. You speak too quickly to make me sure you’ll remember. Say it slower, Dan. Say, ‘I promise to remember.’” “I promise to remember,” he repeated slowly, to indulge this whim of hers; and then asked, “To remember what, grandma?” “What I’ve just told you. That’s all I have to say, Dan.”