, and the air was almost soft, water dripping from the eaves down
the long icicles.

When Lydia entered, the old man was dozing in his chair. The sound of
an axe out behind the house told where Duc was. The whisky-and-herbs
was beside the sick man's chair, and his feet were wrapped about with
bearskins. The girl made a little gesture of pain, and then stepped
softly over and, kneeling, looked into Throng's face. The lips were
moving.

"Dad," she said, "are you asleep?"

"I be a durn fool, I be," he said in a whisper, and then he began to
cough. She took his' hands. They were cold, and she rubbed them softly.
"I feel so a'mighty holler," he said, gasping, "an' that bread's sour
agin." He shook his head pitifully.

His eyes at last settled on her, and he recognised her. He broke into a
giggling laugh; the surprise was almost too much for his feeble mind and
body. His hands reached and clutched hers. "Liddy! Liddy!" he whispered,
then added peevishly, "the bread's sour, an' the boneset and camomile's
no good.... Ain't tomorrow bakin'-day?" he added.

"Yes, dad," she said, smoothing his hands.

"What damned--liars--they be--Liddy! You're my gel, ain't ye?"

"Yes, dad. I'll make some boneset liquor now."

"Yes, yes," he said, with childish eagerness and a weak, wild smile.

"That's it--that's it."

She was about to rise, but he caught her shoulder. "I bin a good dad to
ye, hain't I, Liddy?" he whispered.

"Always."

"Never had no ma but Manette, did ye?"

"Never, dad."

"What danged liars they be!" he said, chuckling. She kissed him, and
moved away to the fire to pour hot water and whisky on the herbs.

His eyes followed her proudly, shining like wet glass in the sun. He
laughed--such a wheezing, soundless laugh!

"He! he! he! I ain't no--durn--fool--bless--the Lord!" he said.

Then the shining look in his eyes became a grey film, and the girl
turned round suddenly, for the long, wheezy breathing had stopped. She
ran to him, and, lifting up his head, saw the look that makes even the
fool seem wise in his cold stillness. Then she sat down on the floor,
laid her head against the arm of his chair, and wept.

It was very quiet inside. From without there came the twang of an axe,
and a man's voice talking to his horse. When the man came in, he lifted
the girl up, and, to comfort her, bade her go look at a picture hanging
in her little room. After she was gone he lifted the body, put it on a
couch, and cared