he was
disturbed. The time for "the Jersey girls" to call came around. Every
afternoon Abbie sat in the window and watched for them to turn the
corner at Chase's Lane. She brought out the polished apples which she
kept in the clothes-press all ready for some one, but "the Jersey girls"
did not come.

"You haven't heard of anybody being sick at the Jersey house, have you,
Chris?"

"Um? Nope!"

"Haven't seen Josie or Em Jersey anywhere lately?"

"Seen 'em at the post-office night afore last."

"H'mp!"

Abbie pushed the kettle to the front of the kitchen stove, poked up the
fire, and put in fresh sticks of wood. When the water boiled she poured
it into a blue-lacquered pail with yellow bands around the rim, carried
it up the steep back stairs, and got out fresh stockings.

An hour later Old Chris saw her climbing up Tillson street. He scratched
his head and frowned.

Abbie turned the corner at Chase's Lane. The snow, driven by the wind,
blinded her. She almost bumped into Viny Freeman.

"My, Viny! What you doing out on such a day?"

Viny Freeman passed her without answering.

"Seems she didn't see me," Abbie muttered. "What can she be doing away
down here on such a day? Must be something special to bring her out of
her lonely old house with her lame side. My! I almost bumped that hand
she's always holding up her pain with. My!"

Abbie turned into the Jersey gate and climbed the icy steps, hanging
onto the railing with both hands. She saw Em Jersey rise from her chair
in the parlor and go into the back sitting-room. Abbie pulled the
bell-knob and waited. No one answered. She pulled it again. No answer.
She rapped on the door with her knuckles. Big Mary, the Jersey hired
girl, opened the door part way.

"They ain't to home."

"Ain't to home?" exclaimed Abbie. "My land! Didn't I just see Em Jersey
through the parlor window?"

"No'm, you never did. They ain't to home."

"Well, I never! And their Ma and mine was cousins! They ain't sick or
nothing? Well!"

* * *

The snow melted; the streets ran with water and then froze. Old Chris no
longer came into the parlor in the evening to sit, his hands clasped
over his thin stomach, his bald head bent until his chin rested upon the
starched neckband of his shirt.

They ate in silence the meals which Abbie prepared: Old Chris at one end
of the long table, and Abbie at the other end.

In silence they went about their accustomed tasks.

Abbie, tired with a ne