On the morning of the Sunday after the dean's return Mr. Harding was lying in his bed, and Posy was sitting on the bed beside him. It was manifest to all now that he became feebler and feebler from day to day, and that he would never leave his bed again. Even the archdeacon had shaken his head, and had acknowledged to his wife that the last day for her father was near at hand. It would very soon be necessary that he should select another vicar for St. Ewolds.
"Grandpa won't play cat's-cradle," said Posy, as Mrs. Arabin entered the room.
"No, darling,—not this morning," said the old man. He himself knew well enough that he would never play cat's-cradle again. Even that was over for him now.
"She teases you, papa," said Mrs. Arabin.
"No, indeed," said he. "Posy never teases me;" and he slowly moved his withered hand down outside the bed, so as to hold the child by her frock. "Let her stay with me, my dear."
"Dr. Filgrave is downstairs, papa. You will see him, if he comes up?" Now Dr. Filgrave was the leading physician of Barchester, and nobody of note in the city,—or for the matter of that in the eastern division of the county,—was allowed to start upon the last great journey without some assistance from him as the hour of going drew nigh. I do not know that he had much reputation for prolonging life, but he was supposed to add a grace to the hour of departure. Mr. Harding had expressed no wish to see the doctor,—had rather declared his conviction that Dr. Filgrave could be of no possible service to him. But he was not a man to persevere in his objection in opposition to the wishes of the friends around him; and as soon as the archdeacon had spoken a word on the subject he assented.
"Of course, my dear, I will see him."
"And Posy shall come back when he has gone," said Mrs. Arabin.
"Posy will do me more good than Dr. Filgrave I am quite sure;—but Posy shall go now." So Posy scrambled off the bed, and the doctor was ushered into the room.
"A day or two will see the end of it, Mr. Archdeacon;—I should
