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“‘You help me, Cyrus,’ says she, kind, o’ twittery-like, but calm. ‘We’ll carry him in here. I can lift.’

“But our men-folks got there jest about as they was tryin’ to plan how to take him, an’ they h’isted him onto the bed. Cyrus harnessed up our horse an’ went after Dr. Parks, an’ by the time he come, we’d got the room so’s to look decent. An’–if you’ll b’lieve it! Lyddy Ann was in the bedroom tryin’ to warm Josh up an’ make him take some hot drink; but when I begun to sweep up, an’ swop towards that gravel-pile in the middle o’ the floor, she come hurryin’ up, all out o’ breath. She ketched the broom right out o’ my hand.

“I’ll sweep, byme-by,’ says she. ‘Don’t you touch that gravel, none on ye!’ An’ so the gravel laid there, an’ we walked round it, watchers an’ all.

“She wouldn’t have no watcher in his bedroom, though; she was determined to do everything but turn him an’ lift him herself, but there was al’ays one or two settin’ round to keep the fires goin’ an’ make sure there was enough cooked up. I swan, I never see a woman so happy round a bed o’ sickness as Lyddy Ann was! She never made no fuss when Josh was awake, but if he shet his eyes, she’d kind o’ hang over the bed an’ smooth the clo’es as if they was kittens, an’ once I ketched her huggin’ up the sleeve of his old barn coat that hung outside the door. If ever a woman made a fool of herself over a man that wa’n’t wuth it, ’twas Lyddy Ann Marden!

“Well, Josh he hung on for a good while, an’ we couldn’t make out whether he had his senses or not. He kep’ his eyes shet most o’ the time; but when Lyddy Ann’s back was turned, he seemed to know it somehow, an’ he’d open ’em an’ foller her all round the room. But he never spoke. I asked the doctor about it.

“‘Can’t he speak, doctor?’ says I. ‘He can move that hand a leetle to-day. Don’t you s’pose he could speak, if he’d a mind to?’

“The doctor he squinted up his eyes–he al’ays done that when he didn’t want to answer–an’ he says,–

“‘I guess he’s thinkin’ on’t over.’

“But one day, Lyddy Ann found she was all beat out, an’ she laid down in the best bedroom an’ went to sleep. I set with Josh. I was narrerin’ off, but when I looked up, he was beckonin’ with his well hand. I got up, an’ went to the bed.

“‘Be you dry?’ says I. He made a little motion, an’ then he lifted his hand an’ p’inted out into the settin’-room.

“Do you want Lyddy Ann?’ says I. ‘She’s laid down.’ No, he didn’t want her. I went to the settin’-room door an’ looked out, an’–I dunno how ’twas–it all come to me.

“‘Is it that gravel-heap?’ says I. ‘Do you want it carried off, an’ the floor swop up?’ An’ he made a motion to say ‘Yes.’ I called Cyrus, an’ we made short work o’ that gravel. When, I’d took up the last mite on’t, I went back to the bed.

“‘Josh Marden,’ says I, ‘can you speak, or can’t you?’ But he shet his eyes, an’ wouldn’t say a word.

“When Lyddy Ann come out, I told her what he’d done, an’ then she did give way a little mite. Two tears come out o’ her eyes, an’ jest rolled down her cheeks, but she didn’t give up to ’em.

“‘Sally,’ says she, sort o’ peaceful, ‘I guess I’ll have a cup o’ tea.’

“Well, there was times when we thought Josh would git round ag’in, if he didn’t have another stroke. I dunno whether he did have another or not, but one night, he seemed to be sort o’ sinkin’ away. Lyddy Ann she begun to turn white, an’ she set down by him an’ rubbed his sick hand. He looked at her,–fust time he had, fair an’ square,–an’ then he begun to wobble his lips round an’ make a queer noise with ’em. She put her head down, an’ then she says, ‘Yes, Joshuay! yes, dear!’ An’ she got up an’ took the pocket-book ‘Mandy had gi’n him off the top o’ the bureau, an’ laid it down on the bed where he could git it. But he shook his head, an’ said the word ag’in, an’ a queer look–as if she was scairt an’ pleased–flashed over Lyddy Ann’s face. She run into the parlor, an’ come back with that old pocket-book he’d give up to her, an’ she put it into his well hand. That was what he wanted. His fingers gripped it up, an’ he shet his eyes. He never spoke ag’in. He died that night.”

“I guess she died, too!” said Lucy Staples, under her breath, stealthily wiping a tear from her faded cheek.

“No, she didn’t, either!” retorted Sally Flint, hastily, getting up to peer from the window down the country road. “She lived a good many year, right in that very room he’d drove her out on, an’ she looked as if she owned the airth. I’ve studied on it consid’able, an’ I al’ays s’posed ’twas because she’d got him, an’ that was all she cared for. There’s the hearse now, an’ two carriages, step an’ step.”

“Land! who’s dead?” exclaimed Mrs. Forbes, getting up in haste, while her ball rolled unhindered to the other end of the room.

“It’s Lyddy Ann Marden,” returned Sally Flint, with the triumphant quiet of one first at the goal. “I see it this mornin’ in the ‘County Democrat,’ when I was doin’ up my wrist, an’ you was all so busy.”