When he had put up the last shutter, he dropped his arms with a weary sigh.

Mary, who had been fastening the bolts inside, met him in the doorway.
"You look worn out, father," she said.

"Come and lie down, and I will read to you." "I will, my dear," he answered.

"I don't feel quite myself to-night.
The seasons tell upon me now.

I suppose the stuff of my tabernacle is wearing thin." Mary cast an anxious look at him, for, though never a strong man, he seldom complained.