an' I took what care of your grandma was needed; an' she always gave
her orders through me, so I practically run the house, an' there
wasn't anything _there_ for her to do.

"An' so your ma just had to mope it out alone. Oh, I don't mean your
pa was unkind. He was always nice an' polite, when he was in the
house, an' I'm sure he meant to treat her all right. He said yes, yes,
to be sure, of course she was lonesome, an' he was sorry. 'T was too
bad he was so busy. An' he kissed her an' patted her. But he always
began right away to talk of the comet; an' ten to one he didn't
disappear into the observatory within the next five minutes. Then your
ma would look so grieved an' sorry an' go off an' cry, an' maybe not
come down to dinner, at all.

"Well, then, one day things got so bad your grandma took a hand. She
was up an' around the house, though she kept mostly to her own rooms.
But of course she saw how things was goin'. Besides, I told her--some.
'T was no more than my duty, as I looked at it. She just worshipped
your pa, an' naturally she'd want things right for him. So one day she
told me to tell her son's wife to come to her in her room.

"An' I did, an' she came. Poor little thing! I couldn't help bein'
sorry for her. She didn't know a thing of what was wanted of her, an'
she was so glad an' happy to come. You see, she _was_ lonesome, I
suppose.

"'Me? Want me?--Mother Anderson?' she cried. 'Oh, I'm so glad!' Then
she made it worse by runnin' up the stairs an' bouncin' into the room
like a rubber ball, an' cryin': 'Now, what shall I do, read to you, or
sing to you, or shall we play games? I'd _love_ to do any of them!'