characteristics were nearly obliterated. The expression upon his face resembled nothing so much as a sketch which has been done over so many times that its first design is altogether lost, and if there was any answer to the riddle, it was not the mental perception of Mrs. Lathrop that was about to seize upon it. 

 Instead, that kindly visitor stood lost in a species of helpless contemplation, until at last a motion of Susan's, directed towards the ordering of an unsightly fold in the wide smoothness of the counterpane, led to her bending herself to do a similar kindness upon her side of the bed. The action resulted in a slight change in her expression which Susan's watchfulness at once perceived. 

 "Was it a needle?" she asked quickly. "Sometimes I stick 'em in while I'm sewin'. You see, his havin' been paralyzed so many years has got me where I'm awful careless about leavin' needles in his bed." 

 "No," said Mrs. Lathrop; "it wasn't a—" 

 "Come on downstairs again," said the hostess; "we c'n talk there." 

 They went down into the kitchen, and there Mrs. Lathrop seated herself and coughed solemnly. 

 "What is it, anyhow?" the younger woman demanded. 

 Mrs. Lathrop coughed again. 

 "Susan, did I feel a feather—" 

 "Yes," said Susan, in great surprise; "he likes one." 

 "I sh'd think it was too hot this—" 

 "He don't never complain o' the heat, 'n' he hates the chill o' rainy days." 

 Mrs. Lathrop coughed again. 

 Miss Clegg's interest bordered on impatience. 

 "Now, Susan, I ain't sayin' as it's noways true, but I have heard as there's them 's can't die on—" 

 "On feathers?" cried the daughter. 

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