Wearily Sue obeyed.
But， lo！ after the beating rain and fierce gusts of windthat had endured through the livelong night， there yetstood out against the brick wall one ivy leaf. It was thelast one on the vine. Still dark green near its stem， with itsserrated edges tinted with the yellow of dissolution anddecay， it hung bravely from the branch some twenty feetabove the ground.
“It is the last one，” said Johnsy. “I thought it wouldsurely fall during the night. I heard the wind. It will fall today，and I shall die at the same time.”
“Dear， dear！” said Sue， leaning her worn face down to thepillow， “think of me， if you won’t think of yourself. Whatwould I do？”
But Johnsy did not answer. The lonesomest thing in allthe world is a soul when it is making ready to go on itsmysterious， far journey. The fancy seemed to possess hermore strongly as one by one the ties that bound her tofriendship and to earth were loosed.
The day wore away， and even through the twilight theycould see the lone ivy leaf clinging to its stem against thewall. And then， with the coming of the night the northwind was again loosed， while the rain still beat against thewindows and pattered down from the low Dutch eaves.
When it was light enough Johnsy， the merciless，commanded that the shade be raised.
The ivy leaf was still there.
Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And then shecalled to Sue， who was stirring her chicken broth over thegas stove.
“I’ve been a bad girl， Sudie，” said Johnsy. “Something hasmade that last leaf stay there to show me how wicked Iwas. It is a sin to want to die. You may bring a me a littlebroth now， and some milk with a little port in it， and—no；bring me a hand-mirror first， and then pack some pillowsabout me， and I will sit up and watch you cook.”
And hour later she said： “Sudie， some day I hope topaint the Bay of Naples.”
The doctor came in the afternoon， and Sue had anexcuse to go into the hallway as he left.
“Even chances，” said the doctor， taking Sue’s thin，shaking hand in his. “With good nursing you’ll win.” Andnow I must see another case I have downstairs. Behrman，his name is—some kind of an artist， I believe. Pneumonia，too. He is an old， weak man， and the attack is acute. Thereis no hope for him； but he goes to the hospital to-day tobe made more comfortable.”
The next day the doctor said to Sue： “She’s out ofdanger. You won. Nutrition and care now—that’s all.”
And that afternoon Sue came to the bed where Johnsylay， contentedly knitting a very blue and very uselesswoollen shoulder scarf， and put one arm around her，pillows and all.
“I have something to tell you， white mouse，” she said.
“Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia to-day in the hospital.
He was ill only two days. The janitor found him themorning of the first day in his room downstairs helplesswith pain. His shoes and clothing were wet through andicy cold. They couldn’t imagine where he had been onsuch a dreadful night. And then they found a lantern， stilllighted， and a ladder that had been dragged from its place，and some scattered brushes， and a palette with green andyellow colors mixed on it， and—look out the window， dear，at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn’t you wonder why itnever fluttered or moved when the wind blew？ Ah， darling，it’s Behrman’s masterpiece—he painted it there the nightthat the last leaf fell.”