For the place seemed no longer the same without those pattering feet. Cook had been found crying in a chair in the kitchen; and when asked why, she said it was because Grant had howled in the night, and she knew now that dear little Gran’ma would never be seen walking so sedately round the garden again.
It was of no use to tell her that Grant had howled because he was miserable at not seeing his little mistress: she said she knew better.
“Don’t tell me,” she cried; “look at him.” And she pointed to where the dog had just gone down to the gate, for a carriage had stopped, and the dog, after meeting the doctor, walked up behind him to the house, waited till he came out, and then walked down behind him to the gate, saw him go, and came back to lie down in his old place on the step, with his head between his paws.
They said that they could not get Grant to eat, and it was quite true, for the little hands which fed him were not there; and the house was very mournful and still, even Dinny having ceased to shout and laugh, for they told her she must be very quiet, because Gran’ma was so ill.
From that hour Dinny went about the place like a mouse, and her favorite place was on the step by Grant, who, after a time, took to laying his head in her lap, and gazing up at her with his great brown eyes.
And they said that Gran’ma knew no one now, but lay talking quickly about losing the rabbits and about Dinny and Grant; and then there came a day when she said nothing, but lay very still as if asleep.
That night as the doctor was going, he said softly that he could do no more, but that those who loved the little quiet child must pray to God to spare her to them; and that night, too, while tears were falling fast, and there seemed to be no hope, Grant, in his loneliness and misery, did utter a long, low, mournful howl.
But next morning, after a weary night, those who watched saw the bright glow of returning day lighting up the eastern sky, and the sun had not long risen before Gran’ma woke as if from a long sleep, looked up in her mother’s eyes as if she knew her once more, and the great time of peril was at an end.
All through the worst no hands but her mother’s had touched her; but now a nurse was brought in to help—a quiet, motherly, North-country woman who one day stood at the door, and held up her hands in astonishment, for she had been busy down-stairs for an hour, and now that she had returned there was a great reception on the bed: Buzz was seated on the pillow purring; the rabbits all three were playing at the bed being a warren, and loping in and out from the valance; Grant was seated on a chair with his head close up to his mistress’s breast; and Dinny was reading aloud from a picture storybook like this, but the book was upside down, and she invented all she said.