o the head of the stairs and
called to her, that she came up, and I told her very gravely that I was
going to be sick, but I knew I was not going to die, and adjured her with
a look in my eyes which she said, "I couldn't go ag'inst, teacher, for it
was more convincin' than health," not to write to my friends of my
sickness, and instructed her how to send the letters which I had sealed,
stamped, directed, and methodically arranged on the table, in their
proper order to the post.

For the rest, all through the pain and impotence and vague mental
wanderings of the days that followed, I had a restful, comforting
consciousness that a kind, loving face, like the lamp of my salvation,
was hanging ever over me--always it was Grandma Keeler's face, though it
seemed to have grown strangely young and fair, and the eyes that followed
me with such a loving, tireless, wistful expression in them were like
other eyes that I had known, and the watcher's voice was clear and
musical, with a youthful repression in it. Still, somehow, it was
Grandma's face, _her_ eyes, _her_ voice--and when at last, I woke one
morning very weak, but able to recognize clearly all the familiar objects
in the room, it was Grandma Keeler indeed, who sat by my bed, beaming
gloriously upon me.

"Is it most school time, Grandma?" I inquired, feebly, slowly
concentrating my gaze on her face.

"Oh, laws, no!" said Grandma, with cheerful emphasis, and then continued
talking in her quiet monotone. I hardly heard what she said. I was
painfully endeavoring to pick up the lost thread of my consciousness
where I had left it on that night when I put my room in order and went so
wearily to bed. At last I inquired, still vaguely, "How long?"

Grandma understood. She smiled reassuringly.

"Only a little while, teacher," she said. "You've only been sick a little
while--a few days, maybe," and she immediately proffered me some broth
which was a triumph of the good soul's art, and seemed to partake of her
own comfortable and sustaining nature. I lay back on the pillows,
contented to be very still for a little while.

When I next looked up and recognized that familiar figure sitting by the
bed, I said, "Has Becky come back?"

"Yis, Becky's come back!" said Grandma, in a tone which seemed to imply,
in the very best faith, that during my illness the world had been running
on excellently well. "You take some more broth now, teacher, and keep
r'al slow-minded and easy, and he