uld be a library in the
house, and had brought only her Greek Tragedy with her. This she did
not dare open again, so there she sat, Aunt Betty, not having yet
entirely recovered from the effects of her cold ride, alternately
nodding and rousing herself to a vain effort to keep her eyes open.
And all the time the storm was increasing, the wind rocking the house
with its rough blasts, until it seemed to utter loud groans, and the
sharp cold snapping and cracking the shaking timbers with short
volleys of sound like gun-shots. Frightened mice scurried about in the
low roof over the kitchen; and rats, lonely rats, seeking company,
came to the top of the cellar stairs, pushing the door open with their
pointed noses, and blinking in beseechingly with their big round
eyes.

Marion, who had never heard anything of the kind before, was really
frightened.

"O Aunt Betty," she said piteously, "do, please, wake up and tell me
if there are ghosts here!"

Aunt Betty just stared at her; she was wide awake now.

"There are such dreadful noises, and such mice, and--and rats!"

"Nonsense!" said Aunt Betty, listening. "Don't be a coward! It's only
the storm."

"It's fearful! What can we do?"

"Pop corn!"

Marion could not help laughing at the inconsequent answer; but
anything was better than the noisy stillness of the last hour, and
bringing a large brass warming-pan and some corn, they were soon busy
popping the corn.

It would have been difficult to say which of the two enjoyed the sport
the most. It carried Marion home, where the family were all gathered
together before the brisk fire in the cheerful sitting-room. Aunt
Betty was young again. Nat and Sam, Bertha and Molly, and little Ruth
filled the big, empty kitchen, laughed merrily over the crackling
corn, held out small hands to catch it as the cover swung back, pelted
each other with it till the spotless floor crunched beneath their
dancing feet. It had been long years since they had come home to her
before on Thanksgiving night, but here they were now, all evoked by
Marion's glad youth.

The moment the old clock struck nine, warming-pan, corn, and dishes
vanished from sight.

A long tallow-dip Aunt Betty held out to Marion, and pointed
up-stairs.

Marion obeyed; and though all night long the wind howled, the mice and
the rats held high carnival, Marion slept soundly, and never knew
that Aunt Betty, with her candle held high above her head, made
another visit to h