"'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