' them Baldwins look so fine and rosy, I
thought it ud make anybody's mouth water to see them. I counted upon
the schoolb'ys to buy them up in a twinklin', by reason of me markin'
them down to two for a cent. An' so they would, but they're so taken
up with sportin' in the snow that they can think of nothin' else. An'
now that it's turned so raw, sure I'm afraid it's cold comfort any one
but a lad would think it, settin' his teeth on edge tryin' to eat them.
I'll tarry a bit longer; an' then, if no better fortune comes, I'll
take meself to me little room, even though I'll have to drink me tea
without a tint of milk or a dust of sugar the night, and be thankful
for that same."

Patiently she waited. The clock struck five. As no other customers
appeared, the old woman, who was known as Widow Barry, concluded that
she would be moving. "Though it is too bad," she murmured; "an' this
the best stand anywhere hereabouts."

In reality, the stand consisted of a large basket, a camp-seat, the
tiresome privilege of leaning against two feet of stone-wall, and the
aforesaid umbrella, which was intended to afford, not only a roof, but
an air of dignity to the concern, and was therefore always open, rain
or shine.

To "shut up shop," though it meant simply to lower the umbrella, gather
up the goods and depart, was to the apple-vender a momentous affair.
Every merchant who attempts, as the saying is, to carry his
establishment, finds it no easy task; yet this is what the widow was
obliged literally to do. To make her way, thus laden, in the midst of
a driving snowstorm was indeed a difficult matter. Half a dozen times
she faltered in discouragement. The street led over a steep hill; how
was she to reach the top? She struggled along; the wind blew through
her thin garments and drove her back; the umbrella bobbed wildly about;
her hands grew numb; now the basket, again the camp-seat, kept slipping
from her grasp. Several persons passed, but no one seemed to think of
stopping to assist her. A party of well-dressed boys were coasting
down the middle of the street; what cared they for the storm? Several,
who were standing awaiting their turn, glanced idly at the grotesque
figure.

"What a guy!" cried Ed Brown, with a laugh, sending a well-aimed
snowball straight against the umbrella, which it shook with a thud. He
was on the point of following up with another.

"Oh, come!" protested a carelessly good-natured companion. "