am?"

Presently he saw that Mrs. Grumble was trying to lift herself up in
bed. "I'm going now," she said. Her voice was low, but resonant.
"Mrs. Wicket will look after you. She's a good woman, Mr. Jeminy. My
mind's at peace. I never knew death was so simple and ordinary. It's
almost like nothing."

She sank back; her voice gave out and she began to cough. "You will
only tire yourself by talking," said Mr. Jeminy. "Rest now. Then in
the morning . . ."

"No," said Mrs. Grumble faintly, "there'll be no morning for me, unless
it's the morning of the Lord. Not where I'm going."

"You are going where I, too, must go," said Mr. Jeminy. "You are going
a little before me. Soon I shall come hurrying after you."

"It's nearly over," said Mrs. Grumble. "I did what I could." Her mind
began to wander; she spoke some words to herself.

"You, God," said Mr. Jeminy aloud, "this is your doing. Then come and
be present; receive the forgiveness of this good woman, to whom you
gave, in this life, poverty and sacrifice."

"Please," whispered Mrs. Grumble, "speak of God with more respect."
They were her last words; it was the end. A spasm of coughing shook
her; for a moment she seemed anxious to speak. But as Mr. Jeminy bent
over her, her breath failed; her head fell back, and with a single,
frightened glance, Mrs. Grumble passed away, without saying what she
had intended.

Mr. Jeminy closed her eyes, and folded her hands across her breast.
"She is gone already," he thought; "she is far away. She has pressed
ahead, so swiftly, beyond sight or hearing."

He bent his head. "You made me comfortable in my life, Mrs. Grumble,"
he said, "yet at the end I could do nothing for you. But you will not
think badly of me for that.

"Now you are hurrying through eternity. To you, these few slow hours
before the dawn are no different from to-morrow or yesterday; they will
never pass.

"Do you see, at last, the meaning of the spectacle you have just
quitted? Do you understand what I, for all my wisdom, do not
understand? You are free to ask God to explain it to you; you can say,
'I saw armies with banners, and scholars with their books.' Perhaps he
will tell you the meaning of it. But for us, who remain, it has no
meaning. Well, we say, this is life. We laugh, applaud, talk
together, and think about ourselves. And one by one we slip away, no
wiser than before.

"We are like the bees, who work from dawn till dark,