On her way home, overcome by the fear that Miss Priscilla might die thinking herself neglected, Virginia stopped at the Academy, and was shown into the chamber behind the parlour, which had once been a classroom. In the middle of her big tester bed, the teacher was lying, propped among pillows, with her cameo brooch fastening the collar of her nightgown and a purple wool shawl, which Virginia had knit for her, thrown over her shoulders. "Dear Miss Priscilla, I've thought of you so often. Are you better to-day?" "A little, Jinny, but don't worry about me. I'll be out of bed in a day or two." Though she was well over eighty-five, she still thought of herself as a middle-aged woman, and her constant plans for the future amazed Virginia, whose hold upon life was so much slighter, so much less tenacious. "Have you been to market, dear? I miss so being able to sit by the window and watch people go by. Then I always knew when you and Susan were on your way to Mr. Dewlap." "Yes, I've begun to go again. It fills in the day." "I never approved of your letting your servants market for you, Jinny. It would have shocked your mother dreadfully." "I know," said Virginia, and her voice, in spite of her effort to speak cheerfully, had a weary sound, which made her add with sudden energy, "I've brought you a partridge. Mr. Dewlap had such nice ones. You must try to eat it for supper." "How like you that was, Jinny. You are your mother all over again. I declare I am reminded of her more and more every time that I see you." Tears sprang to Virginia's eyes, while her thin blue-veined hands gently caressed Miss Priscilla's swollen and knotted fingers. "You couldn't tell me anything that would please me more," she answered. "I used to think that Lucy would take after her, but she grew up differently." "Yes, neither of the girls is like her. They are dear, good children, but they are very modern." "Have you heard from them recently?" "A few days ago, and they are both as well as can be." "And what about Harry? I've always believed that Harry was your favourite, Jinny." For an instant Virginia hesitated, with her eyes on the pot of red geraniums blooming between the white muslin curtains at the window. In his little cage in the sunlight, Miss Priscilla's canary, the last of many generations of Dickys, burst suddenly into song. "I believe that Harry loves me more than anybody else in the world does," she answered at last. "He'd come to me to-morrow if he thought I needed him."