took the lamp, and stepped out into the sitting-room. The
pounding came again. "Ann Mary, Ann Mary!" cried a voice. It was her
grandmother's.

"I'm comin', I'm comin', grandma!" shouted Ann Mary. She had never felt
so happy in her life. She pushed back the bolt of the side door with
trembling haste. There stood her grandmother all muffled up, with a
shawl over her head; and out in the yard were her grandfather and
another man, with a horse and sleigh. The men were turning the sleigh
around.

"Put the lamp in the window, Ann Mary," called Mr. Little, and Ann Mary
obeyed. Her grandmother sank into a chair. "I'm jest about tuckered
out," she groaned. "If I don't ketch my death with this day's work, I'm
lucky. There ain't any more feelin' in my feet than as if they was lumps
of stone."

Ann Mary stood at her grandmother's elbow, and her face was all beaming.
"I thought you weren't coming," said she.

"Well, I shouldn't have come a step to-night, if it hadn't been for
you--and the cow," said her grandmother, in an indignant voice. "I was
kind of uneasy about you, an' we knew the cow wouldn't be milked unless
you got Mr. Adams to come over."

"Was Aunt Betsey very sick?" inquired Ann Mary.

Her grandmother gave her head a toss. "Sick! No, there wa'n't a thing
the matter with her, except she ate some sassage-meat, an' had a little
faint turn. Lizz was scart to death, the way she always is. She didn't
act as if she knew whether her head was on, all the time we were there.
She didn't act as if she knew 'twas Thanksgivin' Day; an' she didn't
have no turkey that I could see. Aunt Betsey bein' took sick seemed to
put everythin' out of her head. I never saw such a nervous thing as she
is. I was all out of patience when I got there. Betsey didn't seem to be
very bad off, an' there we'd hurried enough to break our necks. We
didn't dare to drive around to Sarah Bean's to let you know about it,
for we was afraid we'd miss the train. We jest got in with the man that
brought the word, an' he driv as fast as he could over to the village,
an' then we lost the train, an' had to sit there in the depot two mortal
hours. An' now we've come fourteen mile' in an open sleigh. The man that
lives next door to Betsey said he'd bring us home, an' I thought we'd
better come. He's goin' over to the village to-night; he's got folks
there. I told him he'd a good deal better stay here, but he won't. He's
as deaf as an adder, an' you can't make him h