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“Oh, I never heard of such a thing,” said Sue. “It doesn’t have any sense in it. What
does an old tree have to do with you? Or with your getting well? And you used to love

that tree so much. Don’t be a little fool. The doctor told me your chances for getting
well. He told me this morning. He said you had very good chances! Try to eat a little
now. And then I’ll go back to work. And then I can sell my picture, and then I can buy
something more for you to eat to make you strong.”

“You don’t have to buy anything for me,” said Johnsy. She still looked out the window.
“There goes another. No, I don’t want anything to eat. Now there are four. I want to
see the last one fall before night. Then I’ll go, too.”

“Johnsy, dear,” said Sue, “will you promise me to close your eyes and keep them closed?
Will you promise not to look out the window until I finish working? I must have this

picture ready tomorrow. I need the light; I can’t cover the window.”

“Couldn’t you work in the other room?” asked Johnsy coldly. “I’d rather be here by
you,” said Sue. “And I don’t want you to look at those leaves.”

“Tell me as soon as you have finished,” said Johnsy. She closed her eyes and lay white
and still. “Because I want to see the last leaf fall. I have done enough waiting. I have
done enough thinking. I want to go sailing down, down, like one of those leaves.”

“Try to sleep,” said Sue. “I must call Behrman to come up here. I want to paint a man
in this picture, and I’ll make him look like Behrman. I won’t be gone a minute. Don’t
try to move till I come back.” Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the first floor

of their house. He was past sixty. He had no success as a painter. For forty years he
had painted, without ever painting a good picture. He had always talked of painting a
great picture, a masterpiece, but he had never yet started it.

He got a little money by letting others paint pictures of him. He drank too much. He
still talked of his great masterpiece. And he believed that it was his special duty to do
everything possible to help Sue and Johnsy.

Sue found him in his dark room, and she knew that he had been drinking. She could
smell it. She told him about Johnsy and the leaves on the vine. She said that she was

afraid that Johnsy would indeed sail down, down like the leaf. Her hold on the world

was growing weaker.

Old Behrman shouted his anger over such an idea. “What!” he cried. “Are there such

fools? Do people die because leaves drop off a tree? I have not heard of such a thing.

No, I will not come up and sit while you make a picture of me. Why do you allow her

to think such a thing? That poor little Johnsy!”

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The English Carnival-7