"I'm so shrunk
away to nuthin', I know I can lay on the back seat if I crook myself
up," she said, with a cool accent but a rather shaky voice. Seeming to
realize that even her intense desire to strike the matter-of-fact note
could not take the place of any and all explanation of her extraordinary
request, she added, holding my eyes steady with her own: "Emma Hulett's
my twin sister. I guess it ain't so queer, my wanting to see her."

I thought, of course, we were to be used as the medium for some
strange, sudden family reconciliation, and went out to ask Paul if he
thought he could carry the old invalid to the car. He replied that, so
far as that went, he could carry so thin an old body ten times around
the town, but that he refused absolutely to take such a risk without
authorization from her doctor. I remembered the burning eyes of
resolution I had left inside, and sent him to present his objections to
Mrs. Purdon herself.

In a few moments I saw him emerge from the house with the old woman in
his arms. He had evidently taken her up just as she lay. The piecework
quilt hung down in long folds, flashing its brilliant reds and greens in
the sunshine, which shone so strangely upon the pallid old countenance,
facing the open sky for the first time in years.

We drove in silence through the green and gold lyric of the spring day,
an elderly company sadly out of key with the triumphant note of eternal
youth which rang through all the visible world. Mrs. Purdon looked at
nothing, said nothing, seemed to be aware of nothing but the purpose in
her heart, whatever that might be. Paul and I, taking a leaf from our
neighbors' book, held, with a courage like theirs, to their excellent
habit of saying nothing when there is nothing to say. We arrived at the
fine old Hulett place without the exchange of a single word.

"Now carry me in," said Mrs. Purdon briefly, evidently hoarding her
strength.

"Wouldn't I better go and see if Miss Hulett is at home?" I asked.

Mrs. Purdon shook her head impatiently and turned her compelling eyes on
my husband. I went up the path before them to knock at the door,
wondering what the people in the house would possibly be thinking of us.
There was no answer to my knock. "Open the door and go in," commanded
Mrs. Purdon from out her quilt.

There was no one in the spacious, white-paneled hall, and no sound in
all the big, many-roomed house.

"Emma's out feeding the hens," conjectured Mrs. Pur