“You didn’t shut the door,” the old lady whispered hoarsely. “I wish you would—an’ bolt it, too. An’ then come straight back to me.” Janice closed and bolted the door, and returned to the bedside. Aunt Mary drew her down close to her, and her voice and eyes were hungry, indeed. For a little she looked eagerly upon what she had so craved to possess again, and then she suddenly asked: “Granite, have you got any cigarettes with you?” The maid started a little. “Do you smoke now?” she asked, with interest. “No,” said Aunt Mary sadly, “an’ that’s one more of my awful troubles. You see I’m jus’ achin’ to smell smoke, an’ Joshua promised his mother the night before he was twenty-one. You don’t know nothin’ about how terrible I feel. I’m empty somewhere jus’ all the time. Don’t you believe’t you could get some cigarettes an’ smoke ’em right close to me, an’ let me lay here, an’ be so happy while I smell. I’ll have a good doctor for you, if you’re sick from it.” The maid reflected; then she nodded. “I’ll write to town,” she cried, in her high, clear tones. “What brand do you like best?” “Mitchell’s,” said Aunt Mary. “But you can’t get those because he made ’em himself an’ sealed ’em with a lick. Oh!” she sighed, with the accent of a starving Sybarite, “I do wish I could see him do it again! Do you know,” she added suddenly, “he wrote me a letter and he’s goin’ to come here.” “When?” asked Janice. “After a while. But you must take off your things. That’s your room in there,” pointing toward a half-open door at the side. “I wanted you as close as I could get you. My, but I’ve wanted you! I can’t tell you how much. But a good deal—a lot—awfully.” Janice went into the room that was to be hers, and hung up her hat and cloak. When she returned Aunt Mary was looking a hundred per cent, improved already. “Can you hum ‘Hiawatha’?” she asked immediately. “Granite, I must have suthin’ to amuse me an’ make me feel good. Can you hum ‘Hiawatha’ an’ can you do that kind of ‘sh—sh—sh—’that everybody does all together at the end, you know?” Janice smiled pleasantly, and placing herself in the closest possible proximity with the ear trumpet, at once rendered the desired _morceau_ in a style which would have done credit to a soloist in a _café chantant_. Aunt Mary’s lips wreathed in seraphic bliss. “My!” she said. “I feel just as if I was back eatin’ crabs’ legs and tails again. No one’ll ever know how I’ve missed city life this winter but—well, you saw Lucinda!” The glance that accompanied the speech was mysterious but significant. Janice nodded sympathetically. “I hope you brought a trunk. I ain’t a bit sure when I’ll be able to let you go,” pursued the old lady. “I don’t believe I can let you go until I go, too. I’ve most died here alone.” “I brought a trunk,” Janice cried into the ear trumpet. “I’m glad,” said Aunt Mary. She paused, and her eyes grew wistful.