Abbie suddenly realized that she was shivering; that her feet were cold; that it was long after nine o’clock. Old Chris must have fallen asleep in his chair. She went to the dining-room door and opened it; the dining-room was dark. Why?--why, of course! Old Chris had been gone for more than three weeks. She took hold of the door to steady herself; her hands shook. How could she have forgotten? Was she going crazy? Would the loneliness come to that? Abbie went to bed. All night she lay awake, thinking. The thoughts came of themselves. What the town had to say didn’t matter after all; the town had paid her no attention for years; it was paying her no attention now. Why, then, should she live without any one to speak to? “I’ll go and get Old Chris, that’s what I’ll do. I won’t live here alone any longer.” And with this decision she went to sleep. In the morning when Abbie opened the kitchen door and stepped out onto the porch, frost lay thick upon the well pump. She drew her shawl close around her and took hold of the pump-handle with her mittened hands. When she had filled the pail she went back into the kitchen. The sound of the wind made her shiver. To walk all the way to Mile Corners on such a day required green tea, so Abbie drank three cupfuls. Then, as on the day when she went out to call upon “the Jersey girls,” she carried hot water up-stairs and got out fresh stockings. About nine o’clock three women of Pastor Lucus’s church, standing on the front steps of Aunt Alphie Newberry’s house, saw Abbie struggling through a drift. “Why, there’s Abbie Snover,” said Jennie Chipman. “She’s turnin’ down the road to Mile Corners,” added Judie Wing. Aunt Alphie Newberry opened the door to the three women: “Whatever’s the matter to be bringin’ you callin’ so early?” “Ain’t you heard yet?” “We come to tell you.” “My! my! my! What can have happened?” Aunt Alphie exclaimed. “Old Chris died last night----” “Just after bein’ middlin’ sick for a day an’----” “An’ they say,” Judie Wing interrupted, “that it was ’cause Abbie Snover turned him out.” Abbie reached the end of the town sidewalk. Lifting her skirts high, she waded through the deep snow to the rough-rutted track left by the farmer’s sleighs. Every little while she had to step off the road into the deep snow to let a bob-sled loaded high with hay or straw pass on its way into town. Some of the farmers recognized her; they spoke to her with kindly voices, but she made no answer. Walking was hard; Owen Frazer’s farm was over the hill; there was a steep climb ahead of her. And besides, Owen Frazer’s house was no place for Old Chris. No one knew anything about Owen Frazer and that woman of his; they hadn’t been born in Almont. How could she have let Old Chris go down there, anyway? “Whoa up! Hey! Better climb in, Abbie, an’ ride with me. This ain’t no day for walkin’. Get up here on the seat. I’ll come down an’ help you.”