fly 'round and get your chores done, so we can clear away
for dinner jest as soon as I clap my bread into the oven," called Mrs.
Bassett presently, as she rounded off the last loaf of brown bread which
was to feed the hungry mouths that seldom tasted any other.

"Here's a man comin' up the hill, lively!" "Guess it's Gad Hopkins. Pa
told him to bring a dezzen oranges, if they warn't too high!" shouted
Sol and Seth, running to the door, while the girls smacked their lips at
the thought of this rare treat, and Baby threw his apple overboard, as
if getting ready for a new cargo.

But all were doomed to disappointment, for it was not Gad, with the
much-desired fruit. It was a stranger, who threw himself off his horse
and hurried up to Mr. Bassett in the yard, with some brief message that
made the farmer drop his ax and look so sober that his wife guessed at
once some bad news had come; and crying, "Mother's wuss! I know she
is!" out ran the good woman, forgetful of the flour on her arms and the
oven waiting for its most important batch.

The man said old Mr. Chadwick, down to Keene, stopped him as he passed,
and told him to tell Mrs. Bassett her mother was failin' fast, and she'd
better come to-day. He knew no more, and having delivered his errand he
rode away, saying it looked like snow and he must be jogging, or he
wouldn't get home till night.

"We must go right off, Eldad. Hitch up, and I'll be ready in less'n
no time," said Mrs. Bassett, wasting not a minute in tears and
lamentations, but pulling off her apron as she went in, with her mind in
a sad jumble of bread, anxiety, turkey, sorrow, haste, and cider
apple-sauce.

A few words told the story, and the children left their work to help her
get ready, mingling their grief for "Gran'ma" with regrets for the lost
dinner.

"I'm dreadful sorry, dears, but it can't be helped. I couldn't cook nor
eat no way, now, and if that blessed woman gets better sudden, as she
has before, we'll have cause for thanksgivin', and I'll give you a
dinner you won't forget in a hurry," said Mrs. Bassett, as she tied on
her brown silk pumpkin-hood, with a sob for the good old mother who had
made it for her.

Not a child complained after that, but ran about helpfully, bringing
moccasins, heating the footstone, and getting ready for a long drive,
because Gran'ma lived twenty miles away, and there were no railroads in
those parts to whisk people to and fro like magic. By the time the old