ALLEN ROSSITER
In November there came a day when nobody in the Huntington house spoke above a whisper. There was a trained nurse in the house, three very solemn doctors coming and going, and an air of everybody waiting for something.
James told Maggie, and Maggie told Jeanne, that old Mr. Huntington had had a stroke.
"Is my grandfather going to die?" asked Jeannette, when Maggie had patiently explained the serious nature of Mr. Huntington's sudden illness.
"I don't know," returned Maggie. "Nobody knows, not even the doctors."
For a great many dreary days, her grandfather remained "Just the same," until Jeanne considered those three words the most hateful ones in the English tongue. Then, one memorable morning—years later, it seemed—she heard Dr. Duncan say, on his way out: "A decided change for the better, Mrs. Huntington."
Jeanne was so glad that she danced a little jig with her friend in the mirror. Often, after that, she waylaid the pleasant white-capped nurse to ask about the invalid; but Miss Raymond's one response was "Nicely, my dear, nicely." For weeks and weeks, Jeanne saw nothing of her grandfather; consequently, her mathematics became very bad indeed. But at last, one Sunday morning, the nurse summoned her to her grandfather's room.
"Your grandfather wants to see you," said Miss Raymond. "You must be very quiet and not stay too long—just five minutes."
Five minutes were enough! There was a strange, wrinkled old man, who looked small and shriveled in that big white bed. Her grandfather's eyes had been keen and bright. The eyes of this stranger were dull, sunken, and oh, so tired.
"How do you do?" said Jeanne, primly. "I'm—I'm sorry you've been sick."