IN the upper windows of the double-fronted house near the church plain short blinds had replaced the long Madras muslin curtains. Again the gay Brussels carpet in the best sitting-room was covered with newspaper and the ornaments were put away. All visitors had left Draeth, for the Summer was over, and with the summer Tommy’s sixth birthday had come and gone.

Being six did not bring with it the rare delight that Tommy had expected. For one thing he missed his ladies; for another he was troubled by the growing sadness of his Mammy’s face. Twice when he came in unexpectedly he had found her in tears, and yet she had assured him that she had no headache anywhere.

It was most unfortunate, too, that just when things were a little dreary Granny Tregennis should be so very tired. Whenever Tommy ran in to see her now, he found that she was still in bed, and although she wanted him to play with her on Saturday mornings yet, when he went upstairs, she seemed to have but little pleasure in the play-toys that were kept in the fireplace cupboard.

“My Granny did ought to have a brave long sleep,” he asserted with puckered brow.

“She do be goin’ to have a brave long sleep, ma handsome,” Mammy’s eyes filled with tears as she spoke and this seemed to Tommy inconsistent.

On the front, looking for occupation, he fell in with Old John. Old John was a life-long friend, but of late there had been so many other interests to attract him that Old John had been neglected.

Now Tommy hailed him. “Gotten a noo pair o’ trousers,” he shouted, and almost overbalanced in his effort to stand on one leg with the other stretched out at right angles in front of him.

“Hm!” said Old John.

Taking his pipe from his mouth he examined the trousers critically. “Hm!” he said again.

“My Mammy’s blue skirt,” Tommy explained, proudly, while he reversed his position. He now stood on the left leg and thrust forward the right.

“Hallo!” he cried, for Mammy was approaching to bring him in to bed.

“Tommy ’e do tell me ’e’ve gotten noo trousers.”

Mammy nodded.

“Made out o’ your blue skirt, Ellen Tregennis?”

Mammy nodded and smiled.

“You’m gotten as good a little woman as ever is in the world for your Mammy, Tommy.” Old John looked at Mrs. Tregennis, who laughed in acknowledgement of the compliment.

“We’m forced to do as careful as we can,” she said. “When Tom can’t go neither boulter-fishin’ nor whiffin’ we be livin’ on our means like the gintry; then I make clothes for Tommy, so’s he’ll be respectable. ’Taint no mortal use, Old John, for we to look small and be small both, so there’s where ’tis to.”

“Makes ’en out of hers!” This was a fact that Tommy was very proud of.

Again Mammy laughed. “Well, ’tis so,” she admitted. “Tom an’ me we wears the clothes, then Tommy wears ’en, then they do be made into mats an’ we treads on ’en. Blouses bain’t no good though, for ’e,” she added ruefully; “very wastely things they be to tear up for ’e, the sleeves do come s’awkward!”

“An’ Tom now, ’e do be a brave good husband?” queried Old John.

“That he be. I wouldn’t stand no nonsense, I wouldn’t be ’umbugged about with ’e, me at my size.”

Mammy smiled and led Tommy off to bed.

At the top of the alley Tommy stopped. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said as he turned towards Main Street.

“Where be a-goin’?” asked Mammy.

“Where be I a-goin’?” Tommy echoed in surprise. “Why I be a-goin’ to say good-night to my Gran.”

“I shouldn’t go to-night, ma handsome; Granny’s tired.”

Tommy turned and looked at his mother in amazement. Every night ever since he could remember he had run along to say “good-night” to Granny.

“She’ll want me, an’ I must go,” he demurred.

“She do be too tired for ee to-night, my lamb.”

“Do ee mean, Mammy, that ’er do be too tired for me to say good-night to she?” Tommy was frankly incredulous.

Mammy nodded and again the tears came. “She can’t do with ee, not to-night,” she said very softly.

Much puzzled Tommy was led into the house and undressed; still puzzled he went upstairs to bed. Half-an-hour later he fell asleep, wondering.

The next day, Saturday, a reluctant Tommy was sent to spend the morning on the beach, while Mammy went along to be with Aunt Keziah Kate, for Granny’s tiredness was nearly over.

In the old-fashioned bedroom there was little to do but wait.

“She do be slippin’ away fast,” said Aunt Keziah Kate.

Gently she stroked the frail old hands that lay on the coarse coverlet. There were no tears in her eyes. There would be plenty of time for weeping afterwards, now they must just wait.

“It do be just like Gran.” Mammy hastily brushed away a tear. “Never wasn’t no trouble to no-one, wasn’t Gran. All her life she’ve spent in considerin’ others. As long as visitors was here she’ve keppen up; now that the summer’s over she do be quietly slippin’ away.”

The old woman, lying so quietly on the bed, opened her eyes and her lips moved slowly. Aunt Keziah Kate bent to catch the whispered words.

“Saturday?”

Aunt Keziah Kate nodded.

“What be the time?”

Aunt Keziah Kate told her.

“Then where be Tommy?”

“You don’t want ’e mother this mornin’, do ee?”

An almost imperceptible movement of Granny’s head was the reply, and Tommy was hastily found and brought up from the sunshine of the beach to the dim light of Granny’s room.

“Go very quietly, my lamb,” warned Mrs. Tregennis.

“But I allus do,” answered Tommy, rather indignantly. “She don’t never hear me come; it do be a surprise for she.”

Then he creaked across the room on tip-toe, stepped first of all on to the hassock and from this to the chair. When he raised the curtain the sight of the lined face lying so still, so very still, upon the pillow stopped the “Bo” before it left his lips.

Instead, “Granny, Granny,” he whispered. “I do be come to play with ee, my Granny.”

The tired old eyes opened very slowly, and for a moment it almost seemed as though she smiled. “Ma lovely,” she whispered.

But there were no play-toys to-day, for in the same room where a new life had begun so many years ago an old one was soon to end. There was no storm now. Outside the sun shone brightly, and a little breeze gently moved the old chintz window curtains made so many years ago by Granny’s busy hands.

GranfÄather Tregennis had come into the room and large tears were rolling down his cheeks. Tommy thought that grown men never cried. His wonder deepened when GranfÄather, who was quite grown up, knelt down on the other side of the bed and covered his face with his hands.

Mammy and Aunt Keziah Kate were crying too.

Tommy’s heart tightened with despair. Granny had forgotten him, for again her eyes were closed.

Then he remembered something that would surely arouse her interest, and from his trouser pocket he pulled out yards of tangled, woollen chain; the very chain that Granny had taught him to make in the far-away Christmas holidays.

“I made this for ee, Granny,” he said, putting into her hands a motley string of pink, and green, and blue and red. “I did make ’e for ee all myself, no-one else did never do none of ’e at all.”

Once more Granny opened her eyes. “Thank ee ma lovely,” she whispered, and a little sigh fluttered between her parted lips.

Then Tommy was led away.

When Aunt Keziah Kate would have removed the tangled chain the feeble fingers closed and held it more firmly.

Afterwards, when Granny was at rest, GranfÄather Tregennis took it from the cold hands and put it away in a drawer with his few treasures—a dry, withered rose given him by Granny many, many years ago, and an artificial spray of orange-blossom worn by Granny on their wedding-day.