Then Mr. Barnett came in too, but he never said a word. There was just a
glance, a pressure of hands, and that was all, but it seemed to mean ever
so much to them.

So after a short time I went away, and the bright sun was streaming down
upon our poor, little, smelly Sweetapple Cove, that was really like a
corner of Paradise.

And now, Aunt Jennie, several more days have gone by, and John is getting
stronger and stronger every hour.

Yesterday, for the first time, he sat up in a long deck chair that had
been brought up from the _Snowbird_, and I sat beside him, with my
knitting, which was only a pretence, for it lay on my lap, idly. It
seemed to me that I had a million things to talk about, but when I spoke
he answered in brief little weary words, so that I became afraid I might
tire him. There is no porch to the little house, so he sat indoors in
front of the widely opened door, whence he could see the cove, glittering
in the sunshine, and the flakes covered with the silver-grey fish that
were drying.

We remained in silence for a long time, and my hand rested on his, that
was stretched out on the arm of the chair. Then he turned to me.

"Dearest," he said, "I am but sorry company for you, after all these days
of devoted attention on your part."

"You are my own dear John," I answered. "I wish--I wish I knew that you
were as happy as I."