e to write him to come an' make her a little visit just to chirk
her up, and she shook her head and looked real frightened, and she says:
''Meelia Ellen, don't you never go to sendin' fer him 'thout lettin' me
know. I should _not_ like it _'tall_. He's out there doin' his work, an'
I'm happier havin' him at it. A missionary can't take time traipsin'
round the country every time a relative gets a little down. I'm jest
perfectly all right, 'Meelia Ellen, only I went pretty hard durin'
'Sembly week, and when John was here, an' I'm restin' up fer a while. If
I want John sent fer I'll tell you, but _don't you go to doin' it
'fore_!' An' I really b'leeve she'd be mad at me if I did. She lots a
good deal on givin' her son, an' it would sort o' spoil her sakkerfize,
I s'pose, to hev him come back every time she hungers fer him. I b'leeve
in my heart she's plannin' to slip away quiet and not bother him to say
good-bye. It jest looks thet way to me."

But the next few days the invalid brightened perceptibly, and Hazel
began to be reassured. Sweet converse they had together, and the girl
heard the long pleasant story of the son's visit home as the mother
dwelt lovingly upon each detail, telling it over and over, until the
listener felt that every spot within sight of the invalid's window was
fragrant with his memory. She enjoyed the tale as much as the teller,
and knew just how to give the answer that one loving woman wants from
another loving woman when they speak of the beloved.

Then when the story all was told over and over and there was nothing
more to tell except the pleasant recalling of a funny speech, or some
tender happening, Hazel began to ask deeper questions about the things
of life and eternity; and step by step the older woman led her in the
path she had led her son through all the years of his childhood.

During this time she seemed to grow stronger again. There were days when
she sat up for a little while, and let them put the meals on a tiny
swinging table by her chair; and she took a deep interest in leading the
girl to a heavenly knowledge. Every day she asked for her writing
materials and wrote for a little while; yet Hazel noticed that she did
not send all that she had written in the envelope of the weekly letters,
but laid it away carefully in her writing portfolio as if it were
something yet unfinished.

And one evening in late September, when the last rays of the sunset were
lying across the foot of the