was the funniest thing I
ever saw in my life, when she appeared to me with that horror-stricken
face and her cream-pitcher."

And Miss Catherine, as she seated herself in the little station to
wait for the down-train, said to herself, "God bless them! how good
they were! How I should have hated to go into the car with all the
people, and be stared at and made fun of." They had been so courteous
and simple and kind: why are there not more such people in the world?
And she thought about them, and ate her crackers and the hot-house
grapes, and was very comfortable. It might have been such a
disagreeable experience, yet she had really enjoyed herself. It did
not seem long before she again took her seat in the cars, with the
cream-pitcher respectably disguised in white paper, and herself
looking well enough in the soft little white hood, with its corner
just in the middle of her gray hair over her forehead; she paid her
fare as if her pocket were full of money, and watched the other people
in the car; and by the time she reached home she was her own composed
and reliable self again.

There had been a great excitement at her house. The biscuit were done
and the gingerbread; and the niece took them out of the oven, and
thought her aunt was gone a good while, and went back to the
sitting-room. After a few minutes she went to the front-gate to look
down the street. Miss Stanby joined her; and they stood watching until
Joseph Spring came hurrying back, thinking he was late, and ready with
his apologies, when they told him how long Miss Catherine had been
gone.

"She's stopped for something or other: they're always asking her
advice about things," said he carelessly. "She will be along soon."
And then they went into the house; and nobody said much, and the tall
clock ticked louder and louder; and Joseph began to whistle and drum
with his fingers, meaning to show his unconcern, but in reality
betraying the opposite feeling.

"You don't suppose she's sick, do you?" asked Miss Stanby timidly.

"More likely somebody else is," said Mr. Spring. "Did you say she had
gone to Mrs. Hilton's, Martha? I'll walk down there, and see what the
matter is."

"I wish you would," said his wife. "It's after six o'clock."

"Hasn't got home yet!" said Mrs. Hilton in dismay. "Why, what can have
become of her? She came in before half-past five, in a great hurry;
and she left her pitcher here on the table. I suppose she forgot it. I
lent her min