Ella hesitated; then, knowing that deceit was useless, she stammered out the truth.

"Why, er--only Mr. Herrick."

"Not William Herrick, the undertaker!" There was apparently only pleased surprise in the old woman's voice.

"Yes," nodded Ella feverishly, "he had business out this way, and--and got snowed up," she explained with some haste.

"Ye don't say," murmured the old woman. "Well, ask him in; I'd like ter see him."

"Aunt Abby!"--Ella's teeth fairly chattered with dismay.

"Yes, I'd like ter see him," repeated the old woman with cordial interest. "Call him in."

And Ella could do nothing but obey.

Herrick, however, did not stay long in the sick-room. The situation was uncommon for him, and not without its difficulties. As soon as possible he fled to the kitchen, telling Jim that it gave him "the creeps" to have her ask him where he'd started for, and if business was good.

All that day it snowed and all that night; nor did the dawn of Friday bring clear skies. For hours the wind had swept the snow from roofs and hilltops, piling it into great drifts that grew moment by moment deeper and more impa.s.sable.

In the farmhouse Herrick was still a prisoner.

The sick woman was better. Even Jim knew now that it was no momentary flare of the candle before it went out. Mrs. Darling was undeniably improving in health. She had sat up several times in bed, and had begun to talk of wrappers and slippers. She ate toast, eggs, and jellies, and hinted at chicken and beefsteak. She was weak, to be sure, but behind her, supporting and encouraging, there seemed to be a curious strength--a strength that sent a determined gleam to her eyes, and a grim tenseness to her lips.

At noon the sun came out, and the wind died into fitful gusts. The two men attacked the drifts with a will, and made a path to the gate. They even attempted to break out the road, and Herrick harnessed his horse and started for home; but he had not gone ten rods before he was forced to turn back.

"'T ain't no use," he grumbled. "I calc'late I'm booked here till the crack o' doom!"

"An' ter-morrer's the fun'ral," groaned Jim. "An' I can't git nowhere--_nowhere_ ter tell 'em not ter come!"

"Well, it don't look now as if anybody'd come--or go," snapped the undertaker.

Sat.u.r.day dawned fair and cold. Early in the morning the casket was moved from the parlor to the attic.

There had been sharp words at the breakfast table, Herrick declaring that he had made a sale, and refusing to take the casket back to town; hence the move to the attic; but in spite of their caution, the sick woman heard the commotion.

"What ye been cartin' upstairs?" she asked in a mildly curious voice.

Ella was ready for her.

"A chair," she explained smoothly; "the one that was broke in the front room, ye know." And she did not think it was necessary to add that the chair was not all that had been moved. She winced and changed color, however, when her aunt observed:

"Humph! Must be you're expectin' company, Ella."

It was almost two o'clock when loud voices and the crunch of heavy teams told that the road-breakers had come. All morning the Nortons had been hoping against hope that the fateful hour would pa.s.s, and the road be still left in unbroken whiteness. Someone, however, had known his duty too well--and had done it.

"I set ter work first thing on this road," said the man triumphantly to Ella as he stood, shovel in hand, at the door. "The parson's right behind, an' there's a lot more behind him. Gorry! I was afraid I wouldn't git here in time, but the fun'ral wan't till two, was it?"

Ella's dry lips refused to move. She shook her head.

"There's a mistake," she said faintly. "There ain't no fun'ral. Aunt Abby's better."

The man stared, then he whistled softly.

"Gorry!" he muttered, as he turned away.

If Jim and Ella had supposed that they could keep their aunt from attending her own "funeral"--as Herrick persisted in calling it--they soon found their mistake. Mrs. Darling heard the bells of the first arrival.

"I guess mebbe I'll git up an' set up a spell," she announced calmly to Ella. "I'll have my wrapper an' my slippers, an' I'll set in the big chair out in the settin'-room. That's Parson Gerry's voice, an' I want ter see him."

"But, Aunt Abby--" began Ella, feverishly.

"Well, I declare, if there ain't another sleigh drivin' in," cried the old woman excitedly, sitting up in bed and peering through the little window. "Must be they're givin' us a s'prise party. Now hurry, Ella, an'

git them slippers. I ain't a-goin' to lose none o' the fun!" And Ella, nervous, perplexed, and thoroughly frightened, did as she was bid.

In state, in the big rocking-chair, the old woman received her guests.

She said little, it is true, but she was there; and if she noticed that no guest entered the room without a few whispered words from Ella in the hall, she made no sign. Neither did she apparently consider it strange that ten women and six men should have braved the cold to spend fifteen rather embarra.s.sed minutes in her sitting-room--and for this last both Ella and Jim were devoutly grateful. They could not help wondering about it, however, after she had gone to bed, and the house was still.

"What do ye s'pose she thought?" whispered Jim.

"I don't know," shivered Ella, "but, Jim, wan't it awful?--Mis' Blair brought a white wreath--everlastin's!"

One by one the days pa.s.sed, and Jim and Ella ceased to tremble every time the old woman opened her lips. There was still that fearsome thing in the attic, but the chance of discovery was small now.

"If she _should_ find out," Ella had said, "'twould be the end of the money--fer us."

"But she ain't a-goin' ter find out," Jim had retorted. "She can't last long, 'course, an' I guess she won't change the will now--unless some one tells her; an' I'll be plaguy careful there don't no one do that!"

The "funeral" was a week old when Mrs. Darling came into the sitting-room one day, fully dressed.

"I put on all my clo's," she said smilingly, in answer to Ella's shocked exclamation. "I got restless, somehow, an' sick o' wrappers. Besides, I wanted to walk around the house a little. I git kind o' tired o' jest one room." And she limped across the floor to the hall door.

"But, Aunt Abby, where ye goin' now?" faltered Ella.

"Jest up in the attic. I wanted ter see--" She stopped in apparent surprise. Ella and Jim had sprung to their feet.

"The attic!" they gasped.

"Yes, I--"

"But you mustn't!--you ain't strong enough!--you'll fall!--there's nothin' there!" they exclaimed wildly, talking both together and hurrying forward.

"Oh, I guess 't won't kill me," said the old woman; and something in the tone of her voice made them fall back. They were still staring into each other's eyes when the hall door closed sharply behind her.

"It's all--up!" breathed Jim.

Fully fifteen minutes pa.s.sed before the old woman came back. She entered the room quietly, and limped across the floor to the chair by the window.

"It's real pretty," she said. "I allers did like gray."