Presently Mrs. Sloane returned without her shawl. Her old cotton gown showed tattered and patched, and there were glimpses of her sharp white elbows at the sleeves. "She won't come out a step," she announced. "I can't make her. She's takin' on terribly." William made a stride forward. "I'll go in and see her," he said, hoarsely; but Mrs. Jim Sloane stood suddenly in his way, her slender back against the door. "No, you ain't goin' in," said she, "I told her I wouldn't let you go in." William looked at her. "She's dreadful set against either one of you comin' in, an' I told her you shouldn't," she said, firmly. She smoothed her wild locks down tightly over her ears as she spoke. All the coquettish look was gone. William turned around, and looked helplessly at Barney, and Barney looked back at him. Then Barney put on his hat, and shrugged himself more closely into his great-coat. "I'll go and get the minister," he said. Mrs. Sloane thrust her chin out alertly. "Goin' to get her married right off?" she asked, with a confidential smile. Barney ignored her. "I guess it's the best way to do," he said, sternly, to William; and William nodded. "Well, I guess 'tis the best way," Mrs. Sloane said, with cheerful assent. "I don't b'lieve you could hire her to come out of that room an' go to the minister's, nohow. She's terrible upset, poor thing." As Barney went out of the door he cast a look full of involuntary suspicion back at William, and hesitated a second on the threshold. Mrs. Sloane intercepted the look. "I'll look out he don't run away while you're gone," she said; then she laughed. William's white face flamed up suddenly, but he made no reply. When Barney had gone he drew a chair up close to the hearth, and sat there, bent over, with his elbows on his knees. Mrs. Sloane sat down on the foot of the bed, close to the door of the other room, as if she were mounting guard over it. She kept looking at William, and smiling, and opening her mouth to speak, then checking herself. "It's a pretty cold day," she said, finally. William grunted assent without looking up. Then he motioned with his shoulder towards the door of the other room. "Ain't it cold in there?" he half whispered. "I rolled her all up in my shawl; I guess she won't ketch cold; it's thick," responded the woman, effusively, and William said no more. He sat with his chin in his hands and his eyes fixed absently. The fire was smoking over a low, red glow of coals, the chimney-place yawned black before him, the hearth was all strewn with pots and kettles, and the shelf above it was piled high with a vague household litter. It had leaked around the chimney, and there was a great discolored blotch on the wall above the shelf, and the ceiling. Two or three hens came pecking around the kettles at William's feet.