was not to be.

Dr. Stanchon, as I learned at last to call Master Dick, said that he
couldn't have had a moment's pain, and his own boy, named for the
Colonel, carried him to the grave with our three.

Mrs. Stanchon was a sweet soul, tied to a wheel-chair for life after
five years married, and Miss Lisbet was forever doing things for her
entertainment and to make her forget, like. She never did too much,
but just enough, and didn't stop with grapes and books, as many rich
folk will, you know, but sat with her every other day, at least, with
the Colonel by her side, listening to her bright talk. I doubt the two
of them realized, at those times, how afflicted they were!

She never talked as if he was gone--always as if they'd only parted for
a little. Her hair was soon whiter than his, and she walked and moved
very slow, for her, but the boys seemed to see no difference.

Louis's wife was delicate and came to us, finally, till he should have
an easier post, and the twins were not strong, like our babies. Once
we nearly lost them, and after that Granny Lisbet (as they called her)
never took her eye off them, and pulled them through. It seemed the
village was full of sick children that year, and the mothers were crazy
for her to look at every one.

She was anxious to set up a regular nurse for the district, and gave a
room for that purpose, with a lending closet, and arranged money for
the nurse to be paid for ten years. (They are quite common, now, but
hers was the first in our parts.)

"She's working too hard, Rhoda, my girl," says Dr. Stanchon. "Her
heart's not what she thinks. Keep her quiet, can't you?" But what
could I do?

I nearly cried, last June, when I'd got her out in the garden, that
day, for a bit of quiet, and she began on her plans for the villages to
be taxed for nurses and doctors, to keep off sickness!

"The babies are all well, now," says she, "and Louis comes for his
family to-morrow, and the twins are no trouble. The nurse is all
started in the village and I am going to see the Governor at Albany
next week--I have an appointment. Isn't it strange, Rhoda, that I am
all but fifty, and only ready now to do something with my
opportunities? I've ten good years before me, and the Colonel shall be
proud of me yet!"

I felt so weak and sad all of a sudden--God knows why. She rarely
spoke of him. I held her hand.

"Why, look, Rhoda, there's a stalk of larkspur out!" she said. "Go
p