d to accept Mrs.
Bisbee's invitation to take off her coat and gloves. She moved her chair
back as far as possible into the bay-window.

"I reckon you feel it's pretty warm in here," said Mrs. Bisbee. "I have
to keep it that way so that I can sit over here against the window
without catching cold. I couldn't afford to miss all that's going on in
the street. It's my only amusement."

She drew her work-basket toward her and picked up the quilt pieces she
had laid down when she went to welcome Lloyd. She was making a silk
quilt of the tea-chest pattern, and the basket was full of bright silk
scraps and pieces of ribbon.

"It's like a panorama, I tell Mr. Bisbee. Oh, by the way, I've been
aching to find out. Where did you all go that day just before Christmas
when you started off, a whole party of you, traipsing down the road with
a new saucepan and baskets and things? I heard you had a picnic in the
snow. Is that so?"

Lloyd really gasped this time, but not from the heat. She was so
surprised that Mrs. Bisbee should have taken such an interest in her
affairs, or in any of the unimportant doings of their set, as to
remember them longer than the passing moment. Mrs. Bisbee was
associated in Lloyd's mind with solemn churchly things, like the
Gothic-backed pulpit chairs or the sombre brown pews. Lloyd had never
seen her before, except when she was singing hymns, or sitting with
meekly folded hands through sermon-time. It was almost as surprising to
find that she was inquisitive and interested in human happenings as it
would have been to discover that the ivy-covered belfry kept an eye on
her.

In the midst of her description of the picnic, Mrs. Bisbee leaned
forward and peered eagerly out of the window over her spectacles.

"I don't want to interrupt you," she said; "I just wanted to make sure
that that was Caleb Coburn out again. He has been house-bound with
rheumatism ever since Thanksgiving."

Lloyd looked out in time to see a tall, stoop-shouldered man with a
bushy beard go slowly across the road. He was buttoned up in a heavy
overcoat, and limped along with the aid of two canes.

"He's the queerest old fellow," commented Mrs. Bisbee, looking after
him, with a gentle shake of the head. "Lately he has taken to knitting,
to pass the time."

"To knitting!" echoed Lloyd, in amazement. "That big man?"

"Yes. He calls it hooking. He has a needle made out of a ham bone. Fancy
now! Daughter said it was the funniest thi