hat
was the night the frost came the first time. I know Mrs. Dennison
covered up some flowers she had in the front yard, anyhow. I remember
looking out and seeing an old green plaid shawl of hers over the
verbena bed. There was a fire in my little wood-stove. Mrs. Bird made
it, I know. She was a real motherly sort of woman; she always seemed
to be the happiest when she was doing something to make other folks
happy and comfortable. Mrs. Dennison told me she had always been so.
She said she had coddled her husband within an inch of his life. 'It's
lucky Abby never had any children,' she said, 'for she would have
spoilt them.'

"Well, that night I sat down beside my nice little fire and ate an
apple. There was a plate of nice apples on my table. Mrs. Bird put
them there. I was always very fond of apples. Well, I sat down and
ate an apple, and was having a beautiful time, and thinking how lucky I
was to have got board in such a place with such nice folks, when I
heard a queer little sound at my door. It was such a little hesitating
sort of sound that it sounded more like a fumble than a knock, as if
some one very timid, with very little hands, was feeling along the
door, not quite daring to knock. For a minute I thought it was a
mouse. But I waited and it came again, and then I made up my mind it
was a knock, but a very little scared one, so I said, 'Come in.'

"But nobody came in, and then presently I heard the knock again. Then I
got up and opened the door, thinking it was very queer, and I had a
frightened feeling without knowing why.

"Well, I opened the door, and the first thing I noticed was a draught
of cold air, as if the front door downstairs was open, but there was a
strange close smell about the cold draught. It smelled more like a
cellar that had been shut up for years, than out-of-doors. Then I saw
something. I saw my coat first. The thing that held it was so small
that I couldn't see much of anything else. Then I saw a little white
face with eyes so scared and wishful that they seemed as if they might
eat a hole in anybody's heart. It was a dreadful little face, with
something about it which made it different from any other face on
earth, but it was so pitiful that somehow it did away a good deal with
the dreadfulness. And there were two little hands spotted purple with
the cold, holding up my winter coat, and a strange little far-away
voice said: 'I can't find my mother.'

"'For Heave