Old Oliver went back into his room, where the tea-table was still set
out for his Susan's welcome; but he had no heart to clear the things
away. A chill came over his spirit as his eye fell upon the preparations
he had made to give her such a cordial greeting, that she would know at
once he had forgiven her fully. He lit his pipe, and sat pondering
sorrowfully over all the changes that had happened to him since those
old, far-away days when he was a boy, in the pleasant, fresh, healthy
homestead at the foot of the Wrekin. He felt all of a sudden how very old
he was; a poor, infirm, hoary old man. His sight was growing dim even,
and his hearing duller every day; he was sure of it. His limbs ached
oftener, and he was earlier wearied in the evening; yet he could not
sleep soundly at nights, as he had been used to do. But, worst of all,
his memory was not half as good as it had been. Sometimes, of late, he
had caught himself reading a newspaper quite a fortnight old, and he had
not found it out till he happened to see the date at the top. He could
not recollect the names of people as he did once; for many of his
customers to whom he supplied the monthly magazines were obliged to tell
him their names and the book they wanted every time, before he could
remember them. And now there was this young child cast upon him to be
thought of, and cared and worked for. It was very thoughtless and
reckless of Susan! Suppose he should forget or neglect any of her tender
wants! Suppose his dull ear should grow too deaf to catch the pretty
words she said when she asked for something! Suppose he should not see
when the tears were rolling down her cheeks, and nobody would comfort
her! It might very easily be so. He was not the hale man he was when
Susan was just such another little darling, and he could toss her up to
the ceiling in his strong hands. It was as much as he could do to lift
Dolly on to his feeble knee, and nurse her quietly, not even giving her a
ride to market upon it; and how stiff he felt if she sat there long!