“That Abbie Snover came to my house,” Mrs. Perry told Mrs. Rowles, “an’ said my Hugh had been a-couplin’ her name with Old Chris’s in a nasty way. An’ I told her----” “The idea! the idea!” Mrs. Rowles interrupted. “An’ I told her it must be so, an’ I guess it is,” Mrs. Perry concluded. Mrs. Rowles called upon Pastor Lucus’s wife. “Abbie Snover an’ Old Chris was seen kissin’.” “It’s scandalous,” Mrs. Lucas told the pastor. “The town shouldn’t put up with it a minute longer. That’s what comes of Abbie Snover not coming to church since her Ma died.” On Saturday mornings when Abbie went down-town followed by Old Chris, the women eyed her coldly, and the faces of the men took on quizzical, humorous expressions. Abbie could not help but notice it; she was disturbed. The time for “the Jersey girls” to call came around. Every afternoon Abbie sat in the window and watched for them to turn the corner at Chase’s Lane. She brought out the polished apples which she kept in the clothes-press all ready for some one, but “the Jersey girls” did not come. “You haven’t heard of anybody being sick at the Jersey house, have you, Chris?” “Um? Nope!” “Haven’t seen Josie or Em Jersey anywhere lately?” “Seen ’em at the post-office night afore last.” “H’mp!” Abbie pushed the kettle to the front of the kitchen stove, poked up the fire, and put in fresh sticks of wood. When the water boiled she poured it into a blue-lacquered pail with yellow bands around the rim, carried it up the steep stairs, and got out fresh stockings. An hour later Old Chris saw her climbing up Tillson Street. He scratched his head and frowned. Abbie turned the corner at Chase’s Lane. The snow, driven by the wind, blinded her. She almost bumped into Viny Freeman. “My, Viny! What you doing out on such a day?” “Seems she didn’t see me,” Abbie muttered. “What can she be doing away down here on such a day? Must be something special to bring her out of her lonely old house with her lame side. My! I almost bumped that hand she’s always holding up her pain with. My!” Abbie turned into the Jersey gate and climbed the icy steps, hanging onto the railing with both hands. She saw Em Jersey rise from her chair in the parlor and go into the back sitting-room. Abbie pulled the bell-knob and waited. No one answered. She pulled it again. No answer. She rapped on the door with her knuckles. Big Mary, the Jersey hired girl, opened the door part way. “They ain’t to home.” “Ain’t to home?” exclaimed Abbie. “My land! Didn’t I just see Em Jersey through the parlor window?” “No’m, you never did. They ain’t to home.” “Well, I never! And their Ma and mine was cousins! They ain’t sick or nothing? Well!” The snow melted; the streets ran with water and then froze. Old Chris no longer came into the parlor in the evening to sit, his hands clasped over his thin stomach, his bald head bent until his chin rested upon the starched neckband of his shirt.