rose and made a pretty courtesy, and said she would like to come.

Polly had forgotten to light the lamp. She had been nursing Solomon, and
the fire had burned low. Aunt Priscilla scolded, to be sure. Polly was
getting rather deaf as well.

"It's warm out in the kitchen," said Polly.

"I want it warm here. I aint going to begin to save on firing at my time
of life! I have enough to last me out, and I don't suppose anybody will
thank me for the rest. Bring in some logs."

Aunt Priscilla sat with a shawl around her until the cheerful warmth
began to diffuse itself and the blaze lightened up the room. Polly out
in the kitchen was rehearsing her woes to Solomon.

"It's my 'pinion if missus lives much longer she'll be queerer'n Dick's
hatband. That just wouldn't lay anyhow, I've heerd tell, though I don't
know who Dick was and what he'd been doing, but he was mighty queer.
'Pears to me he must a-lived before the war when General Washington
licked the English. And there's no suitin' missus. First it's too hot
and you're 'stravagant, then it's too cold and she wants to burn up all
the wood in creation!"

Aunt Priscilla watched the flame of the dancing scarlet, blue, and
leaping white-capped arrows that shot up, and out of the side of one eye
she saw a picture on the end of the braided rug--a little girl with a
cloud of light curls sitting there with a great gray cat in her lap. The
room was so much less lonely then. Perhaps she was getting old, real
old, with a weakness for human kind. Was that a sign? She did enjoy the
runs over to the Leveretts'. What would happen if she should not be able
to go out!

She gave a little shudder over that. Of all the large family of sisters
and brothers there was no one living very near or dear to her. She was
next to the youngest. They had all married, some had died, one brother
had gone to the Carolinas and found the climate so agreeable he had
settled there. One sister had gone back to England. There were some
nieces and nephews, but in the early part of her married life Mr.
Perkins _had_ objected to any of them making a home at his house. "We
have no children of our own," he said, "and I take it as a sign that if
the Lord had meant us to care for any, he would have sent them direct to
us, and not had us taking them in at second-hand."

They had both grown selfish and only considered their own wants and
comforts. But the years of solitude looked less and less inviting to the
woman,