retained. Same table; same
chimney-piece; same clock and ornaments on the chimney-piece! But a
different carpet on the floor, and different curtains before the window.

Priscilla bolted and chained the door, and then she too sat down. Her
gown was black, with a small black silk apron. And she was stout, and
she wore felt slippers and moved with the same gingerly care as Toby
himself did. She looked fully her years. Her thin lips were firmer than
ever. It was indeed Priscilla.

'Well, well!' she murmured.

But her capacity for wonder was nearly exhausted.

'Aye!' said Toby, with an air that was meant to be quasi-humorous. He
warmed his hands at the fire, and then rubbed them over the front of
his calves, leaning forward.

'So ye've come back?' said Priscilla.

'Aye!' concurred Toby.

There was a pause.

'Cold weather we're having,' he muttered.

'It's seasonable,' Priscilla pointed out.

Her glance rested on a sprig of holly that was tied under the
gas-chandelier, unique relic of Christmas in the apartment.

Another pause. It would be hazardous to guess what their feelings were;
perhaps their feelings were scarcely anything at all.

'And what be the news?' Toby inquired, with what passes in the Five
Towns for geniality.

'News?' she repeated, as if not immediately grasping the significance
of the question. 'I don't know as there's any news, nothing partic'ler,
that is.'

Hung on the wall near the chimney-piece was a photograph of a girl. It
was an excellent likeness to Priscilla, as she was in Toby's
pre-Trenton days. How young and fresh the creature looked; so simple,
so inexperienced! It startled Toby.

'I don't remember that,' he said.

'What?'

'That!' And he jerked his elbow towards the photograph.

'Oh! THAT! That's my daughter,' said Priscilla.

'Bless us!' said Toby in turn.

'I married Job Tansley,' Priscilla continued. 'He died four years ago
last Knype Wakes Monday. HER'S married'--indicating the
photograph--'her married young Gibson last September.'

'Well, well!' murmured Toby.

Another pause.

There was a shuffling on the pavement outside, and some children began
to sing about shepherds and flocks.

'Oh, bother them childer,' said Priscilla. 'I must send 'em off.'

She got up.

'Here! Give 'em a penny,' Toby suggested, holding out a penny.

'Yes, and then they'll tell others, and I shan't have a moment's peace
all night!' Priscilla grumbled.

However, she bestowed the