s all kep'
repeatin' that time would ease me, but I can't find it does. No, I miss
her just the same every day."

"How long is it since she died?" I asked.

"Eight year now, come the first of October. It don't seem near so long.
I've got a sister that comes and stops 'long o' me a little spell,
spring an' fall, an' odd times if I send after her. I ain't near so good
a hand to sew as I be to knit, and she's very quick to set everything
to rights. She's a married woman with a family; her son's folks lives
at home, an' I can't make no great claim on her time. But it makes me
a kind o' good excuse, when I do send, to help her a little; she ain't
none too well off. Poor dear always liked her, and we used to contrive
our ways together. 'Tis full as easy to be alone. I set here an'
think it all over, an' think considerable when the weather's bad to go
outside. I get so some days it feels as if poor dear might step right
back into this kitchen. I keep a-watchin' them doors as if she might
step in to ary one. Yes, ma'am, I keep a-lookin' off an' droppin' o' my
stitches; that's just how it seems. I can't git over losin' of her no
way nor no how. Yes, ma'am, that's just how it seems to me."

I did not say anything, and he did not look up.

"I git feelin' so sometimes I have to lay everything by an' go out door.
She was a sweet pretty creatur' long's she lived," the old man added
mournfully. "There's that little rockin' chair o' her'n, I set an'
notice it an' think how strange 'tis a creatur' like her should be gone
an' that chair be here right in its old place."

"I wish I had known her; Mrs. Todd told me about your wife one day," I
said.

"You'd have liked to come and see her; all the folks did," said poor
Elijah. "She'd been so pleased to hear everything and see somebody new
that took such an int'rest. She had a kind o' gift to make it pleasant
for folks. I guess likely Almiry Todd told you she was a pretty woman,
especially in her young days; late years, too, she kep' her looks and
come to be so pleasant lookin'. There, 'tain't so much matter, I shall
be done afore a great while. No; I sha'n't trouble the fish a great
sight more."

The old widower sat with his head bowed over his knitting, as if he were
hastily shortening the very thread of time. The minutes went slowly by.
He stopped his work and clasped his hands firmly together. I saw he had
forgotten his guest, and I kept the afternoon watch with him. At last he