pper ready when the family came home cold
and tired at night. The two cats came purring about her chair; one
persuaded her to open the cellar door, and the other leaped to the top
of the kitchen table unrebuked, and blinked herself to sleep there in
the sun. This was a favored kitten brought from the old home, and
seemed like a link between the old days and these. Her mistress
noticed with surprise that pussy was beginning to look old, and she
could not resist a little sigh. "Land! the next world may seem
dreadful new too, and I've got to get used to that," she thought with
a grim smile of foreboding. "How do folks live that wants always to be
on the go? There was Ruth Parlet, that must be always a visitin' and
goin'--well, I won't say that there wasn't a time when I wished for
the chance." Justice always won the day in such minor questions as
this.

Ruth Parlet's name started the usual thoughts, but somehow or other
Mercy could not find it in her heart to be as harsh as usual. She
remembered one thing after another about their girlhood together. They
had been great friends then, and the animosity may have had its root
in the fact that Ruth helped forward her brother's marriage. But there
were years before that of friendly foregathering and girlish alliances
and rivalries; spinning and herb gathering and quilting. It seemed, as
Mercy thought about it, that Ruth was good company after all. But what
did make her act so, and turn right round later on?

The morning grew warm, and at last Mrs. Bascom had to open the window
to let out the buzzing flies and an imprisoned wild bee. The patch was
finished and the elbow would serve Tobias as good as new. She laid the
coat over a chair and put her bent brass thimble into the paper-collar
box that served as work-basket. She used to have a queer splint basket
at the old place, but it had been broken under something heavier when
her household goods were moved. Some of the family had long been tired
of hearing that basket regretted, and another had never been found
worthy to take its place. The thimble, the smooth mill bobbin on which
was wound black linen thread, the dingy lump of beeswax, and a smart
leather needle-book, which Johnny had given her the Christmas before,
all looked ready for use, but Mrs. Bascom pushed them farther back on
the table and quickly rose to her feet. "'T ain't nine o'clock yet,"
she said, exultantly. "I'll just take a couple o' crackers in my
pocket and