When I looked up at last, wondering, peaceful, my face wet with happy
tears, the stars had come out in the sky, and, down below, the windows of
the Ark were shining. The faint murmur of a song was borne up to me. The
Wallencampers had gathered at the Ark to celebrate our last "meeting"
together, and I went down to join them.
* * * * *
At what ghostly hour of the next morning Grandma Keeler awoke Grandpa to
the unusual exigencies of the occasion, I cannot say. It was necessary
for me to start very early from the Ark to take the train at West Wallen,
but when I descended the stairs, by candle-light, Grandpa Keeler had been
already washed and dyed and arrayed, as for the Sabbath, in his best.
Yes, and I was constrained to believe that he had even been instructed in
the mysteries of Sunday-school lore, for there was about him an air of
haggard and feverish excitement, and he glared at my familiar presence
with wild, unseeing eyes.
Memorable were the colloquies held that morning between Grandma and
Grandpa Keeler; Grandpa's tragic assumption of manly consequence, and
solemn fears lest we should miss the train, directed in astute syllables
of warning towards Grandma Keeler; Grandma's increased deliberation, and
imperturbable quietude of soul.
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