It's kind of handy to have a watch on the train. And I'd like real well for you to have it."
He laid it down on the stand, his own cherished gold watch, that had been given him when he was twenty-one.
Betsy reached out and took his hard, gnarled old fist in a tight grip. "Oh, Uncle Henry!" she began, and could not go on.
"We'll miss you, Betsy," he said in an uncertain voice. "It's been . . . it's been real nice to have you here. . . ."
And then he too snatched up his candle very quickly and almost ran out of the room.
Betsy turned over on her back. "No crying, now!" she told herself fiercely. "No crying, now!" She clenched her hands together tightly and set her teeth.
Something moved in the room. Somebody leaned over her. It was Cousin Ann, who didn't make a sound, not one, but who took Betsy in her strong arms and held her close and closer, till Betsy could feel the quick pulse of the other's heart beating all through her own body.
