"Your Uncle Edwin and I talked this over," went on Grandmother Gaumer. "You have two hundred dollars from the governor in the bank in your name and the squire and Uncle Edwin and I will all help. You are to go right on, Katy."
"I wasn't thinking about school," persisted Katy. "I was thinking about my grandfather."
Grandmother Gaumer laid a trembling hand on Katy's head.
"He was always good and kind, Katy, you must never forget that. He was first of all good; that is the best thing. He did what he could for everybody, and everybody loved him. You see what Millerstown thought of him. See that Millerstown thinks that well of you! You must never forget him, never. He loved you--he loved you--"
Grandmother Gaumer repeated what she had said in a strange way, then she ceased to speak, and Katy, startled, lifted her head. Then she got to her feet. She had become familiar in these last weeks with the gray pallor of a mortal seizure.
Only the gaze of a pair of bright, troubled eyes answered her. Grandmother's face was twisted, her hands fell heavily into her lap.
Katy threw her arms round her and laid her cheek against the white hair.
"I will be back, dear, dear gran'mom," said Katy. "You know how I can run!"
An instant later, Katy had flung open the door of the squire's office where sat the squire and Dr. Benner. Her grandmother had insisted upon her putting on her red dress after the funeral. She paused now on the sill as she had paused in her bird-like attitude to call to Caleb Stemmel in the store at Christmas time. But this was a different Katy.
"Oh, come!" she cried. "Oh, come, come quickly!"
GRANDMOTHER GAUMER was not dead. When the squire and the doctor reached her side, she sat just as Katy left her, erect, motionless, bright-eyed. They put her to bed and there she lay with the same bright, helpless gaze.
"Can you understand me?" asked the doctor gently.
The expression in the brown eyes changed. The flash of perception was almost invisible, but it was there; to the eyes of Katy who stood by the bed, breathless, terrified, it was as welcome as the cry of a first-born child to its mother.
"She is conscious," the doctor assured them.
Uncle Edwin and Aunt Sally, whom Katy considered so dull, returned presently in tearful haste from their farm at the edge of the town. They sat with grandmother while the doctor gave directions for the night to Katy in the kitchen.