But he need not have died. He had not been old and he had not been sick. He had been frail — he often lay down on the bed for a rest — but he had not been sick. If he had only managed to hold on for that little bit of time till he got to her birthday, he might not have died at all. He would have been safe. It would have been her birthday. It would have been the Big Day, and he would have been so watchful all day long, thinking about what an important day it was, that he might not have lain down for a rest when he came home in the evening, and if he had not lain down, he might not have died. They had both been so busy thinking of the Big Day, and talking about it, that they had paid no attention at all to the days that went before it, except to cross them off the calendar with a pencil. The father had drawn a bright red star around the Big Day, but he had paid no attention at all to the days that went before it, and neither had she, except that they were both glad, every evening, that another day could be crossed off to show them that they were that much nearer to the day they were both looking forward to. All the days before her birthday had been ordinary days, dull workaday days, not to be valued but only to be pushed out of the way, and then one of the ordinary days had turned around and made itself into the most important day of all.

If he had been sitting with her that night in his old armchair in the kitchen, as he often was in the evenings, he would have caught back the breath he lost and then he would have been all right. She had often seen him catch back his breath. He always looked at her, and she would look at him and see the tears come into his eyes while he caught his breath, and then they would both smile because he was himself again.

He used to hold her on his lap. That annoyed her mother. Her mother used to say that she was too big and heavy to hold, but he always said that she was no weight at all. When he went up to lie down on the bed, after he came in from work, Rose used to like to go up and lie down with him and talk to him until he was rested, but her mother put a stop to that.

He had come in from work as usual that evening, and Rose had stood beside him while he crossed off that day on the calendar. Then he had said, “Will I sit down there by the fire, or will I go up and take a little rest?”