"Very quiet and peaceful," they said concerning
Grandma, but I had known what sort of a death-bed hers would be. Scarcely
a week after she had passed away, Grandpa Keeler followed her. I had it
from good authority that he kept about the house till the last. There was
a "rainy spell," and he stood often gazing out of the window "with a lost
look on his face," and once he said with a wistful, broken utterance and
a pathetic longing in his eyes that did away forever with any opprobrium
there might have been in connection with the term, that "it was gittin'
to be very lonely about the house without ma pesterin' on him."
Since then, I have not heard from Wallencamp. It is doubtful whether I
ever get another letter from that source. Though singularly gifted in the
epistolary art, it is but a dull and faint means of expression to the
souls of the Wallencampers--and _they_ will not forget. From the storms
that shake their earthly habitations, they pass to their sweet, wild rest
beside the sea; and by and by, when I meet them, I shall hear them sing.
End of Project Gutenberg's Cape Cod Folks, by Sarah P. McLean Greene
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAPE COD FOLKS ***
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