ver was any taste
in the beef-tea. Mr. Warrender thought the cook must make away with the
meat; or else send the best of the infusion to some of her people in
the village, and give it to him watered. When it was made over the
fire in his room he said his wife had no skill; she let all the goodness
evaporate. He never could be satisfied with his beef-tea; and so,
grumbling and indignant, finding no savour in anything, but thoroughly
convinced that this was "their" fault, and that they could make it
better if they were to try, he dwindled and faded away.

It was a long illness; a family gets used to a long illness, and after
a while accepts it as the natural course of events. And the doctor
had assured them all that no sudden "change" was to be looked for.
Nevertheless, there was a sudden change. It had become the routine of
the house that each of the ladies should spend so many hours with papa.
Mrs. Warrender was with him, of course, the greater part of the day, and
went out and in to see if he was comfortable every hour or two during
the night; but one of the girls always sat with him in the evening,
bringing her needlework upstairs, and feeling that she was doing her
duty in giving up the reading just when the book was at its most
interesting point. It was after Chatty had fulfilled this duty, and
everybody was serenely preparing to go to bed, that the change came.
"How is he?" Mrs. Warrender had said, as they got out the Prayer-Book
which was used at family prayers. "Just as usual, mamma: quite quiet and
comfortable. I think he was asleep, for he took no notice when I bade
him good-night," Chatty said; and then the servants came in, and the
little rites were accomplished. Mrs. Warrender then went upstairs, and
received the same report from her maid, who sat with the patient in the
intervals when the ladies were at prayers. "Quite comfortable, ma'am,
and I think he is asleep." Mrs. Warrender went to the bedside and drew
back the curtain softly,--the red moreen curtain which was like a board
suspended by the head of the bed,--and lo, while they all had been so
calm, the change had come.

The girls thought their mother made a great deal more fuss than was
necessary; for what could be done? It might be right to send for the
doctor, who is an official whose presence is essential at the last act
of life; but what was the good of sending a man on horseback into
Highcombe, on the chance of the telegraph office being still op