On the humble bed, in a half-upright position, lay Mrs. Nichols,
white as the snowy cap-border which shaded her face. Behind her sat
'Lena, supporting her head, and when Nellie entered, she was
carefully pushing back the few gray locks which had fallen over the
invalid's forehead, her own bright curls mingling with them, and
resting, some on her neck, and some on her grandmother's shoulder. A
deep flush dyed her cheeks when she saw Nellie, who thought she had
never looked upon a sight more beautiful.

"I did not know your grandmother was ill," said she, coming forward
and gently touching the swollen hand which lay outside the
counterpane.

Mrs. Nichols was not too ill to talk, and forthwith she commenced a
history of her malady, beginning at the time she first had it when
'Lena's mother was a year and a day old, frequently quoting Nancy
Scovandyke, and highly entertaining Nellie, who listened until warned
by the sound of the carriage, as it came round to the door, that she
must go.

"We are going back to Uncle Atherton's," said she, "but I wanted to
bid you good-bye, and ask you to visit me in Frankfort with your
cousins. Will you do so?"

This was wholly unexpected to 'Lena, who, without replying, burst
info tears. Nellie hardly knew what to do. She seldom cried
herself--she did not like to see others cry--and still she did not
blame 'Lena, for she felt that she could not help it. At last,
taking her hand, she bade her farewell, asking if she should not