cordial, then she said--

"Folks are oft-times known to talk wild in their age. I thought I might
be losing my wits; might have said something."

"Dear grandmother, don't laugh!" exclaimed her grandson's widow; "and
don't look so strange. Lose your wits! you never will, not you. We shall
have you a little longer yet, please God, and bright and sensible to the
last."

"Folks are oft-times known to talk wild in their age," repeated Madam
Melcombe; and during the rest of that evening she continued silent and
lost in thought.

The next morning, after a late breakfast, her family observed that there
was still a difference in her manner. She was not quite herself, they
thought, and they were confirmed in their opinion when she demanded of
her grand-daughter and her grandson's widow, that a heavy old-fashioned
bureau should be opened for her, and that she should be left alone. "I
don't know as I shall be spared much longer," said the meek
nonogenarian, "and I've made up my mind to write a letter to my sons."

"_My sons_!" When they heard this they were startled almost as they
might have been if she had had no sons, for neither of them had ever
heard her mention their names. Nothing, in fact, was known concerning
them in that house, excepting that what portion of success and happiness
had been allotted to the family seemed all to have fallen to their
share.

They were vastly unpopular in the hamlet. Not that any but the very old