as it was, it seemed like a small star fallen down from some
upper sky to lighten their darkness. Dely was almost too happy; and the
old grandmother, fast slipping into that other world whence baby seemed
to have but newly arrived, stayed her feeble steps a little longer to
wait upon her son's child. Yet, for all the baby, Dely never forgot her
dumb loves. The cat had still its place on the foot of her bed; and her
first walk was to the barn, where the heifer lowed welcome to her
mistress, and rubbed her head against the hand that caressed her with as
much feeling as a cow can show, however much she may have. And Biddy,
the heifer, was a good friend to that little household, all through that
long ensuing winter. It went to Dely's heart to sell her first calf to
the butcher, but they could not raise it, and when it was taken away she
threw her check apron over her head, and buried her face deep in the
pillow, that she might not hear the cries of appeal and grief her
favorite uttered. After this, Biddy would let no one milk her but her
mistress; and many an inarticulate confidence passed between the two
while the sharp streams of milk spun and foamed into the pail below, as
Dely's skilful hands coaxed it down.

They heard from George often: he was well, and busy with drill and camp
life,--not in active service as yet. Incidentally, too, Dely heard of
her mother. Old Kenyon was dead of apoplexy, and Steve like to die of
drink. This was a bit of teamster's gossip, but proved to be true.
Toward the end of the winter, old Mother Adams slept quietly in the
Lord. No pain or sickness grasped her, though she knew she was dying,
kissed and blessed Dely, sent a mother's message to George, and took the
baby for the last time into her arms; then she laid her head on the
pillow, smiled and drew a long breath,--no more.

Poor Dely's life was very lonely; she buried her dead out of her sight,
wrote a loving, sobbing letter to George, and began to try to live
alone. Hard enough it was! March revenged itself on the past toleration
of winter; snow fell in blinding fury, and drifts hid the fences and
fenced the doors all through Hartland Hollow. Day after day Dely
struggled through the path to the barn to feed Biddy and milk her; and a
warm mess of bread and milk often formed her only meal in that bitter
weather. It is not credible to those who think no more of animals than
of chairs and stones how much society and solace they afford to th