No one had ever found him out. And nothing unusual ever happened. The
old man played peacefully for several days, and one very dewy morning
he caught cold. He went to bed, and soon died. Dying in the factory
hospital, among strangers, indifferent people, he smiled serenely.
His memories soothed him. He, too, had been a child; he, too, had
laughed and scampered across the green grass, among the dark trees—his
beloved mother had followed him with her eyes.