When she was about ten years old her other longings were unexpectedly realized, and the scrubbing fell to her to do too, for one chill autumn morning Mrs. Dawson found herself too unwell to get up.  She had been ailing for a week or two. “’Tis the damp and cold got into my bones,” she had said, making light of it, “and they’ll just have to get out again, that’s all.  There is nothing like moving about for working it off.  If I’d sat still as some folks do, I shouldn’t be able to move at all by this time.”

But on this morning even she was forced to give in.  “I think the cold has touched my liver,” she said feebly, “and I don’t feel fit for nothing.  I’ll stay in bed for a bit, that’s the best way,” and indeed she felt far too unwell to do anything else.  Thomas called at the doctor’s house on his way to work, and came home early to dinner to hear his report.

“He says it’s the yellow jaunders,” said Jessie, in an awed voice, looking very grave and alarmed, “and he says I must not be frightened if granny turns orange colour.  Do you think she has been eating too many oranges, granp?  She had two on Sunday—­big ones!”

Granp smiled, in spite of his anxiety.  He knew that an attack of jaundice was no trifling illness for a woman of Patience’s age, and the next day he did not go to work, but waited to see the doctor himself.

The news in the morning, though, was slightly better, and although Mrs. Dawson had to keep her bed for some time, their greatest anxiety was lifted, and their spirits grew higher and more hopeful.

Jessie now was in her element.  She swept and dusted, scrubbed and polished, waited on her grandmother and took care of her grandfather like any little old woman.  All day long her busy feet and hands were going, never seeming to tire; and in her joy at seeing her grandmother getting well again, and her grandfather more happy, and in her pleasure in taking care of them both, her spirits kept as bright and gay, and her laugh as infectious and joyous as it was possible for any one’s to be.

So things were when that Saturday dawned which, undreamed of, was to change everything for all of them.

It was a fresh bright autumn day, with the sun shining cheerfully, but with just that touch of cold in the air which makes one realize that summer is past and winter not so very far off.  In the garden the chrysanthemums were covered with a fine show of buds, and Jessie looked at them eagerly to see if any would be out on the morrow, for the doctor had said that Mrs. Dawson might get up for a little while on Sunday and come down-stairs.

The news put them all in a great bustle.  Jessie felt that all her credit depended on everything, indoors and out, being just a little cleaner and trimmer and more orderly than if her grandmother had been about herself.  Things had to be got from Norton too, so grandfather took the train thither to do the shopping, and Jessie was left to sweep and scrub and polish to her heart’s content.  She and granp were up early on that important morning—­indeed, there was little likelihood of any one’s oversleeping on that day, and so well did they work that by the time Jessie went up to know what her grandmother would like for dinner, the greater part of their tasks were done and grandfather had already started for Norton.