“Mother, don’t say it. She is not going to die. Oh, mother! mother! Surely God is not going to take her from us yet. No. I’m not going to cry; I havena time,” said Katie. “And, mother, she says it herself, and I don’t think she is going to die. Oh, if Miss Betsey could have been here to-night!”
Katie resolutely put away her tears and her fears, and prepared for a night of watching. First, she made her mother lie down with a warm wrapper on her, so that she might be ready to come at any moment. Then she sent the bairns to their beds, and wished that Davie would come home. Then she remembered, with a pang of remorse, that her grandfather had not had his supper, and she got his accustomed bowl of bread and milk, and carried it into the room. Neither of them had moved, and stooping and listening, it seemed to Katie that her grandmother was sleeping naturally and sweetly. Her grandfather shook his head at the sight of the food.
“You must take it, grandfather,” said Katie in a whisper.
She put the bowl on a chair, and knelt down beside him.
“You need not move,” she said softly, and she fed him as he had often fed her when she was a little child.
“My good Katie!” said he, but it would not have been well for him to try to say more.
Davie came in before the supper was over. Katie nodded cheerfully, but did not speak till they were both in the kitchen.
“Well?” said Davie.
“She is no worse. I think she seems better. She has eaten a wee bit of bread, but mother says you cannot always tell by that. We must just wait.”
It was a long and anxious night to these two. It was well that grannie should sleep, but in her utter weakness it was also necessary that she should have nourishment often. She had grown sick of the sight of everything in the way of food, and she had had her choice of whatever the best housewives of Gershom could supply. For days she had only taken a little milk, and to-night she seemed to take it with relish. In a little she woke and spoke: