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This was added with sudden consciousness that I must have heard the recent conversation, but we only smiled at each other, and good Sister Pinkham did not seem displeased. We both turned to look again at the small figure of Mr. Teaby, as he went away, with his queer, tripping gait, along the level road.

“Pretty day, if ‘t wa’n’t quite so warm,” said Sister Pinkham, as she rose and reached for her bandbox and bundle, to resume her own journey. “There, if here ain’t Uncle Teaby’s umbrilla! He forgits everything that belongs to him but that old valise. Folks wouldn’t know him if he left that. You may as well just hand it to Asa Briggs, the depot-master, when he gits back. Like’s not the old gentleman ‘ll think to call for it as he comes back along. Here’s his fan, too, but he won’t be likely to want that this winter.”

She looked at the large umbrella; there was a great deal of good material in it, but it was considerably out of repair.

“I don’t know but I’ll stop an’ mend it up for him, poor old creatur’,” she said slowly, with an apologetic look at me. Then she sat down again, pulled a large rolled-up needlebook from her deep and accessible pocket, and sewed busily for some time with strong stitches.

I sat by and watched her, and was glad to be of use in chasing her large spool of linen thread, which repeatedly rolled away along the platform. Sister Pinkham’s affectionate thoughts were evidently following her old friend.

“I’ve a great mind to walk back with the umbrilla; he may need it, an’ ‘t ain’t a great ways,” she said to me, and then looked up quickly, blushing like a girl. I wished she would, for my part, but it did not seem best for a stranger to give advice in such serious business. “I’ll tell you what I will do,” she told me innocently, a moment afterwards. “I’ll take the umbrilla along with me, and leave word with Asa Briggs I’ve got it. I go right by his house, so you needn’t charge your mind nothin’ about it.”

By the time she had taken off her gold-bowed spectacles and put them carefully away and was ready to make another start, she had learned where I came from and where I was going and what my name was, all this being but poor return for what I had gleaned of the history of herself and Mr. Teaby. I watched Sister Pinkham until she disappeared, umbrella in hand, over the crest of a hill far along the road to the eastward.