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circus; the marble dog door-stop eyed us inquiringly; and the only
sounds that came to our ears were the steady throbbing of Daddy
Ducky's heart, his sprightly voice singing the old songs, the squeaking
of the Boston rocker, and the solemn tick-tock of the old clock on
the mantle.

I hated to leave that house when our visit was over, and I eagerly
looked forward to the next visit. One time, however, I noticed that
something was different. Daddy Ducky did not come out on the porch
to greet us. He didn't play with us any more. True, he sang to us,
but only for a very short time in a thin, quavering voice. His whole
body seemed to tremble, and he groped his way about with the aid (
of a stout cane. I was very young, and I didn't understand what was
happening, but I knew that the words "cataracts" and "failing health"
were bad words.

I was sure something was wrong when Daddy brought Ida and
me home, and Mamma stayed with Daddy Ducky. About two weeks
later Mamma returned home. I heard her crying in her room, and it
frightened me. I crept nearer and heard her telling Daddy something
about Daddy Ducky pleading for "just one little cracker, Dottie," and
he was unable to eat anything at all. "Come on, Dottie, just one little
cracker?" Those pathetic words remain with me to this day.

I saw Daddy Ducky just one more time, and he didn't speak to
me. He was sleeping under a satin blanket, and he had flowers all
around him. I was bewildered, and in a hazy way I began to grasp
what Death was. Daddy Ducky was dead, and he was lying in a dead
house. Suddenly, the house ceased to be a wonderful fairyland. With-
out Daddy Ducky the house seemed to have lost its glow. It seemed
dark and dingy, silent and morose. I never went there again. Life
and happiness had disappeared from the house with the death of my
grandfather. The unhappy, shabby house stood emptily waiting for
its new owner.

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