by a motion of his hand. As
he turned back the collar from his face, we saw by the waving light
that it was pale as death. The long wet locks already lay upon his
cheeks, making them more ghastly as he struggled to speak. "O Stephen
Lee, it's no time to be sitting by the fire, when old Asa Osborn is
rolling in the waters. A man's drownded; and who's to get the body for
the wife and the children--God pity them!--afore the ebb carries it
out to sea?"

The old man drew his hand across his forehead, and rose. I looked at
him as he drew up his tall figure, and looked the young messenger full
in the eye. In a low, deep whisper, he said, "Who, William, did ye
say? You said a man's drownded,--but tell me the name again."

"Yes, Gran'sir, I did say it. Old Uncle Ase Flemming, he and the
minister went out a fishing in the morning. The minister got his boots
off in the water, and after a long time he's swum ashore. But poor
Uncle Ase--. Stephen, come along. His poor wife's gone down to the
beach, now."

They left the house, and I shut the door after them, and came back
softly to my seat by the old man's knee.

Once before I had seen him, when a heavy sorrow fell upon him. It was
on a beautiful summer's day, and the open window let in the cool
breeze from the sea. He was sitting by it in his arm-chair, looking
out upon the calm water, buried in thought. His favorite daughter had
long been very low, and might sink away at any moment. The old dog was
at his feet asleep. The clock ticked in the corner, and the sun was
shining upon the floor. Some friends sat by in silence, with sorrowful
countenances. His little grandchild came to his side, and said,
"Mother says, tell Grandpa Aunt Lucy's gone home."

The old man did not alter his position. For some time he sat in deep
thought, looking out with unseeing gaze, and winding his thumbs, as
before. Of five fair daughters, three had before died by the same
disease, consumption. He had seen them slowly fade away, one by one,
and had followed his children to the grave in the secluded
burying-ground, where the green sod was now to be broken to receive
the fourth.

Rising slowly, he walked across the room, and, taking the well-worn
family Bible, returned with it to his seat; and, as he turned the
leaves, he said in a low tone to himself, "There's only one left now!"
Then he sat entirely silent, with his eyes fixed upon the sacred
page. He did not utter one word of lamentation, he did no