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“‘T was funny, certain,” said Miss Pendexter. “I expect he felt comfortable, knowin’ he had that money by him. ‘T is a comfort, when all’s said and done, ‘specially to folks that’s gettin’ old.”

A sad look shadowed her face for an instant, and then she smiled and rose to take leave, looking expectantly at her hostess to see if there were anything more to be said.

“I hope to come out square myself,” she said, by way of farewell pleasantry; “but there are times when I feel doubtful.”

Mrs. Hand was evidently considering something, and waited a moment or two before she spoke. “Suppose we both walk up to see your aunt Dallett, New Year’s Day, if it ain’t too windy and the snow keeps off?” she proposed. “I could n’t rise the hill if ‘t was a windy day. We could take a hearty breakfast an’ start in good season; I ‘d rather walk than ride, the road’s so rough this time o’ year.”

“Oh, what a person you are to think o’ things! I did so dread goin’ ‘way up there all alone,” said Abby Pendexter. “I ‘m no hand to go off alone, an’ I had it before me, so I really got to dread it. I do so enjoy it after I get there, seein’ Aunt Cynthy, an’ she ‘s always so much better than I expect to find her.”

“Well, we ‘ll start early,” said Mrs. Hand cheerfully; and so they parted. As Miss Pendexter went down the foot-path to the gate, she sent grateful thoughts back to the little sitting-room she had just left.

“How doors are opened!” she exclaimed to herself. “Here I ‘ve been so poor an’ distressed at beginnin’ the year with nothin’, as it were, that I could n’t think o’ even goin’ to make poor old Aunt Cynthy a friendly call. I ‘ll manage to make some kind of a little pleasure too, an’ somethin’ for dear Mis’ Hand. ‘Use what you ‘ve got,’ mother always used to say when every sort of an emergency come up, an’ I may only have wishes to give, but I ‘ll make ’em good ones!”

II.

The first day of the year was clear and bright, as if it were a New Year’s pattern of what winter can be at its very best. The two friends were prepared for changes of weather, and met each other well wrapped in their winter cloaks and shawls, with sufficient brown barege veils tied securely over their bonnets. They ignored for some time the plain truth that each carried something under her arm; the shawls were rounded out suspiciously, especially Miss Pendexter’s, but each respected the other’s air of secrecy. The narrow road was frozen in deep ruts, but a smooth-trodden little foot-path that ran along its edge was very inviting to the wayfarers. Mrs. Hand walked first and Miss Pendexter followed, and they were talking busily nearly all the way, so that they had to stop for breath now and then at the tops of the little hills. It was not a hard walk; there were a good many almost level stretches through the woods, in spite of the fact that they should be a very great deal higher when they reached Mrs. Dallett’s door.

“I do declare, what a nice day ‘t is, an’ such pretty footin’!” said Mrs. Hand, with satisfaction. “Seems to me as if my feet went o’ themselves; gener’lly I have to toil so when I walk that I can’t enjoy nothin’ when I get to a place.”

“It’s partly this beautiful bracin’ air,” said Abby Pendexter. “Sometimes such nice air comes just before a fall of snow. Don’t it seem to make anybody feel young again and to take all your troubles away?”

Mrs. Hand was a comfortable, well-to-do soul, who seldom worried about anything, but something in her companion’s tone touched her heart, and she glanced sidewise and saw a pained look in Abby Pendexter’s thin face. It was a moment for confidence.