"Why, no, indeed!" said I.
"Well, he is, and Mrs. Grover wants Louis to come over. He'd better go back with me. They expect he'll die; he is troubled to breathe."
I called Louis and he went over. He came back to supper and told us he was going to stay with him all night.
"Mr. Davis says he cannot save his life, and they are to have Dr. Brown from the village. The man is terribly frightened; he knows he must go. He says he's afraid he has been too mean to get into heaven, and he moans piteously. His poor wife is nearly distracted."
"Shall I go with you, Louis?" I said.
"You might go over but I hardly think I need you all night there. He has been ill more than a week. I should not be surprised if he left us before morning."
"Small loss to us," said Aunt Hildy, "but if the poor critter knows he's been mean, perhaps he'll see his way through better. I'll go over if it wont torment him."
"You are just the one," said Louis.
"Well, I hope I sha'nt set him to thinking about—never mind what I say. Let me get my herb bag and start along."
We found the poor man no better, and wise Dr. Brown shook his head ominously. He was a regular grave-yard doctor, and I thought it a pity to set up the deacon's tomb-stone while yet he breathed. His poor wife was taking on terribly (as Aunt Hildy expressed it). When Deacon Grover saw Louis he tried to speak. Louis went near and took his hand, and he whispered: