stop all night with ye an'
welcome; 't is gettin' late--an' dark," she added plaintively; but the
sisters shook their heads quickly, while Hannah said that they might
as well get used to staying alone, since they would have to do it
first or last. In spite of herself Mrs. Downs was obliged to put on
her funeral best bonnet and shawl and start on her homeward way.

"Closed-mouthed old maids!" she grumbled as the door shut behind her
all too soon and denied her the light of the lamp along the footpath.
Suddenly there was a bright ray from the window, as if some one had
pushed back the curtain and stood with the lamp close to the sash.
"That's Hannah," said the retreating guest. "She'd told me somethin'
about things, I know, if it hadn't 'a' been for Betsey. Catch me
workin' myself to pieces again for 'em." But, however grudgingly this
was said, Mrs. Downs's conscience told her that the industry of the
past two days had been somewhat selfish on her part; she had hoped
that in the excitement of this unexpected funeral season she might for
once be taken into the sisters' confidence. More than this, she knew
that they were certain of her motive, and had deliberately refused the
expected satisfaction. "'T ain't as if I was one o' them curious
busy-bodies anyway," she said to herself pityingly; "they might 'a'
neighbored with somebody for once, I do believe." Everybody would have
a question ready for her the next day, for it was known that she had
been slaving herself devotedly since the news had come of old Captain
Knowles's sudden death in his bed from a stroke, the last of three
which had in the course of a year or two changed him from a strong old
man to a feeble, chair-bound cripple.

Mrs. Downs stepped bravely along the dark country road; she could see
a light in her own kitchen window half a mile away, and did not stop
to notice either the penetrating dampness, or the shadowy woods at her
right. It was a cloudy night, but there was a dim light over the open
fields. She had a disposition of mind towards the exciting
circumstances of death and burial, and was in request at such times
among her neighbors; in this she was like a city person who prefers
tragedy to comedy, but not having the semblance within her reach, she
made the most of looking on at real griefs and departures.

Some one was walking towards her in the road; suddenly she heard
footsteps. The figure stopped, then it came forward again.

"Oh, 't is you, ai