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. Saturday 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 pass, 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.