“She didn’t ask for it at the last; she just looked at me before they put the gauze thing over her face.  I knew what she meant.  I had been down to see if it had come, and they told me all the mails were in for the day from the West.  She just looked at me so pitiful, but it was like Annie not to ask.  A letter from Dave would have comforted her so, but it didn’t come, though I wired him two days before telling him when the operation would be.  Annie was wonderful cheerful and calm, but I was trembling like a leaf when they were givin’ her the ether, and when they wheeled her out all so stiff and white I just seemed to feel I’d lost my girl.”

I took the old lady’s hand and tried to whisper words of comfort.  She returned the pressure of my hand; her eyes were tearless, and her voice did not even waver, but the thought of poor Annie going into the valley unassured by any loving word gave free passage to my tears.

“Did Dave write or wire?” I asked when I could speak.

“No, not a word; he’s likely off on a spree.”  The old lady spoke bitterly now.  “Everybody was kind to my Annie but him, and it was a word from him that would have cheered her the most.  Dr. Mayo came and sat beside her just an hour before she died, and says he, ’You still have a chance, Mrs. Johnston,’ but Annie just thanked him again for his kindness and sort o’ shook her head.....

“The little woman from Saskatchewan didn’t do well at all after the operation, and Dr. Mayo was afraid she wouldn’t pull through.  She asked him what chance she had, and he told her straight—­the Mayos always tell the truth—­that she had only one chance in a hundred.  She was so weak that he had to bend down to hear her whisperin’, ’I’ll take that one chance!’”

“And did she?” I asked eagerly.

“She was still living when I left.  She will get better, I think.  She has a very good man, by what she was tellin’ us, and a woman can stand a lot if she has a good man,” the old lady said, with the wisdom born of experience.  “I’ve nursed around a lot, and I’ve always noticed that!”

I have noticed it, too, though I’ve never “nursed around.”

“Dave came with us to the station the day we left home.  He was sober that day, and gave Annie plenty of money.  Annie told him to get a return ticket for her, too.  I said he’d better get just a single for her, for she might have to stay longer than a month; but she said no, she’d be back in a month, all right.  Dave seemed pleased to hear her talk so cheerful.  When she got her ticket she sat lookin’ at it a long time.  I knew what she was thinkin’.  She never was a girl to talk mournful, and when the conductor tore off the goin’ down part she gave me the return piece, and she says, ‘You take this, mother.’  I knew that she was thinkin’ what the return half might be used for.”

We changed cars at Newton, and I stood with the old lady and watched the trainmen unload the long box.  They threw off trunks, boxes and valises almost viciously, but when they lifted up the long box their manner changed and they laid it down as tenderly as if they had known something of Annie and her troubled life.