'The good Lord has got me, Deb, and He'll not let me fall.'
Deb sat by her bedside as one stunned. She looked up pitifully when Gwen came to her side.
'I'm still here—but I'm just waitin' my call.'
It was with difficulty that she could be induced to eat anything, and when the time came for Patty to be carried to the grave, she saw the little party of mourners set out in stony unconcern.
'They might have let her bide till I were ready to go, too. It'll be a double expense, and I can't be here much longer.'
Gwen's heart went out to the desolate old woman, and she hardly let a day pass without going over to see her. About a week after, she went one afternoon, but found the house closed. The stillness and desertion of the cottage sent a thrill of fear through her. Fearing that Deb's mind had become slightly unhinged, she wondered if she had destroyed her own life. She tried the door, but it was locked; and then she noticed a piece of paper tucked into the sill. Taking it out, she read:—
'If you be Miss Gwen, the key is under the water butt; if you be any other body, let it be. Deb.'
Gwen took the key up, unlocked the door, and went in. The kitchen was spotlessly clean, the grate shining with blacklead. On the square deal table lay a letter with her name upon it. But before reading it, Gwen hastily searched the house, to make certain that it was empty, and then she perused the badly written epistle.
'Miss Gwen,—
'Your humble servant Deborah Howlitt write these lines to you hoping it may find you as it leaves her at present knowing your kind heart, and I always did have a leaning towards you more than most, and so did Patty for her said you were a woman of good understanding I think it best to leave you all our savings which you will find under our golden russet in my mother's china tea-pot, for Patty said the same when she were a dying. And you will use them to save you from the House if your money has gone from you. Will you be so good as to give the clothes in our chest of drawers to them that need them. We did think of turning our brown serges, and if they were ripped round the bottom and braided afresh would be good Sunday skirts. I have been to our grave three nights running for I heard her calling, but the good God won't take me yet. I'm going to-night, and may be I shall not be back. Patty could not say I have not cleaned for there is no speck of dirt to be seen. And now goodbye and never put your will against the Almighty for I am praying not to do it myself for I am a poor old desolate woman and if He says "Live," I will live, but He seems to say to-night "Come," and,—-