When she came to herself she was lying on the bed in Aunt Mari’s spare room. The spare room was under the western eaves, and there were feathers on the bed. Up the stairway from the kitchen floated the pervasive odor of frying ham. A circle of anxious people, whose presence made the stuffy room still stuffier, were eagerly watching her. Opening her languid eyes to these material discomforts of her situation, she closed them again. She felt very ill, and the only thing in her mind was the conviction that had overtaken her just as she fainted--“Then God is no nearer in Paulding than at home.” As the result of closing her eyes seemed to be the deluging of her face with water until she choked, she decided to reopen them. “Well,” said Aunt Mari, heartily, “that looks more like. How do you feel, Serene? Wasn’t it singular that you should go off so, just when I was tellin’ you ’bout ’Lishe Burley’s sunstroke? I declare, I was frightened when I looked around and saw you. Your uncle would bring you up here and put you on the bed, though I told him ’twas cooler in the settin’-room. But he seemed to think this was the thing to do.” “I wish he’d take me down again,” said Serene, feebly and ungratefully, “and” (after deliberation) “put me in the spring-house.” “What you need is somethin’ to eat,” said Aunt Mari with decision. “I’ll make you a cup of hot tea, and” (not heeding the gesture of dissent) “I don’t believe that ham’s cold yet.” Serene had come to stay a week, and a week accordingly she stayed. The days were very long and very hot; the nights on the feather-bed under the eaves still longer and hotter. She had very little to say for herself, and thought still less. There is a form of despair which amounts to coma. “Serene’s never what you might call sprightly,” observed Aunt Mari in confidence to Uncle Dan’el, “but this time, seems if--well, I s’pose it’s the weather. Wonder if I’ll ever see any weather on this earth to make me stop talkin’?” It was a relief all around when the day came for her departure. “I’ll do better next time, Aunt Mari,” said Serene as she stepped aboard the train; but she did not greatly care that she had not done well this time. When the short journey was half over, the train made a longer stop than usual at one of the way stations. Then, after some talking, the passengers gradually left the car. Serene noticed these things vaguely, but paid no attention to their meaning. Presently a friendly brakeman approached and touched her on the shoulder. “Didn’t you hear ’em say, Miss, there was a freight wreck ahead, and we can’t go on till the track is clear?” “How long will it be?” asked Serene, slowly finding the way out of her reverie. “Mebbe two hours now, and mebbe longer. I’ll carry your bag into the depot, if you like,” and he possessed himself of the shiny black valise seamed with grayish cracks, and led the way out of the car.