He had met them so seldom that at one time he thought they must have gone away, but now after his first cup he saw the quiet, sad old pair, sitting together on a bench in the Stadt Park, and he asked leave to sit down with them till it was time for the next.

Eltwin said that this was their last day, too; and explained that his wife always came with him to the springs, while he took the waters.
"Well," he apologized, "we're all that's left, and I suppose we like to keep together." He paused, and at the look in March's face he suddenly went on.

"I haven't been well for three or four years; but I always fought against coming out here, when the doctors wanted me to.

I said I couldn't leave home; and, I don't suppose I ever should.

But my home left me." As he spoke his wife shrank tenderly near him, and March saw her steal her withered hand into his.
"We'd had a large family, but they'd all died off, with one thing or another, and here in the spring we lost our last daughter.