CHAPTER XVII.
RICHARD'S HEIR For one whole week the windows of Ethelyn's room were darkened as dark as Mrs.Markham's heavy shawl and a patchwork quilt could make them.

The doctor rode to and from the farmhouse, looking more and more concerned each time he came from the sick-room.

Mrs.Jones was over almost every hour, or if she did not come Tim was sent to inquire, his voice very low and subdued as he asked, "How is she now ?" while James' voice was lower and sadder still as he answered, "There is no change." Up and down the stairs Mrs.Markham trod softly, wishing that she had never harbored an unkind thought against the pale-faced girl lying so unconscious of all they were doing for her.

In the kitchen below, with a scared look upon her face, Eunice washed and wiped her dishes, and wondered if Richard would get home in time for the funeral, and if he would order from Camden a metallic coffin such as Minnie Dayton had been buried in; and Eunice's tears fell like rain as she thought how terrible it was to die so young, and unprepared, too, as she heard Mrs.Markham say to the Methodist clergyman when he came over to offer consolation.
Yes, Ethelyn was unprepared for the fearful change which seemed so near, and of all the household none felt this more keenly than Andy, whose tears soaked through and through the leaf of the prayer-book, where was printed the petition for the sick, and who improvised many a touching prayer himself, kneeling by the wooden chair where God had so often met and blessed him.
"Don't let Ethie die, Good Father, don't let her die; at least not till she is ready, and Dick is here to see her--poor old Dick, who loves her so much.

Please spare her for him, and take me in her place.