Green Hill
December 8
It seems a year since I last opened you, little Blue Friend. For so much has happened. I walk, as if I had always walked, and it no longer seems wonderful or blessed. For my Father is very ill. He is up and dressed and around, but I know and he knows that it may not be for very long. He has been to town, to see other doctors. And when he came back, he set his house in order.
After he had told me his exact condition, "Mavis," he said, "you are the bravest person, except your Mother, I have ever known. It may be that I shall live for years; it may be that it is only a matter of weeks or months. I don't know. The doctors hold out very little hope of my recovery. You are better fitted to help me now than ever you were. And," he said smiling, "it seems as if I had nothing more to live for, now that you are well again, and growing stronger every day."
I was on his lap, in the big still living room.
"Father, father," I said, and held his dear head close against my breast. They can't take him from me! They can't!
"Hush!" he said. "We have had many years of the most beautiful, close companionship together, my daughter. You have given me more than you know. And for a long time I have known...."
He stopped.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked, fighting back the tears.
"I talked it over," he said, "with Dr. Denton, and we decided that it was not wise—as your condition stood then."
Always Dr. Denton! Ordering my life....