The things that made the people of Almont interesting to each other and drew them together meant nothing to Abbie Snover. When she had become too old to be asked in marriage by any one, she had stopped going to dances and to sleigh-rides, and no one had asked her why. Then she had left the choir. Except when she went to do her marketing, Abbie was never seen on the streets. For fifteen years after Amos Snover died, Abbie and Old Chris lived alone in the big house. Every Saturday morning, as her mother had done before her, Abbie went to the grocery store, to the butcher shop, and to “Newberry’s.” She always walked along the East side of Main Street, Old Chris, with the market-basket, following about three feet behind her. And every Saturday night Old Chris went down-town to sit in the back of Pot Lippincott’s store and visit with Owen Frazer, who drove in from the sixty acres he farmed as a “renter” at Mile Corners. Once every week Abbie made a batch of cookies, cutting the thin-rolled dough into the shape of leaves with an old tin cutter that had been her mother’s. She stored the cookies in the shiny tin pail that stood on the shelf in the clothes-press of the down-stairs bedroom, because that was where her mother had always kept them, to be handy and yet out of reach of the hired help. And when Jennie Sanders’s children came to her door on their way home from school she gave them two cookies each, because her mother had always given her two. Once every three months “the Jersey girls,” dressed in black broadcloth, with black, fluted ruffles around their necks, and black-flowered bonnets covering their scanty hair, turned the corner at Chase’s Lane, walked three blocks to the foot of Tillson Street, and rang Abbie Snover’s door-bell. As Old Chris grew older and less able, Abbie was compelled to close off first one room and then another; but Old Chris still occupied the back chamber near the upstairs woodroom, and Abbie still slept in the South bedroom. Early one October afternoon, Jim East, Almont’s express agent and keeper of the general store, drove his hooded delivery cart up to the front steps of the big house. He trembled with excitement as he climbed down from the seat. “Abbie Snover! Ab--bie!” he called. “I got somethin’ for you! A package all the way from China! Just you come an’ look!” Jim East lifted the package out of the delivery cart, carried it up the steps, and set it down at Abbie’s feet. “Just you look, Abbie! That there crate’s made of little fishin’ poles, an’ what’s inside’s all wrapped up in Chinee mats!” Old Chris came around from the back of the house. Jim East grabbed his arm and pointed at the bamboo crate. “Just you put your nose down, Chris, an’ smell. Ain’t that foreign?” Abbie brought her scissors. Carefully she removed the red and yellow labels. “There’s American writin’ on ’em, too,” Jim East hastened to explain, “cause otherwise how’d I know who it was for, hey?”