Mrs. Dallett led the way with eager hospitality. She was the tiniest little bent old creature, her handkerchiefed head was quick and alert, and her eyes were bright with excitement and feeling, but the rest of her was much the worse for age; she could hardly move, poor soul, as if she had only a make-believe framework of a body under a shoulder-shawl and thick petticoats. She got back to her chair again, and the guests took off their bonnets in the bedroom, and returned discreet and sedate in their black woolen dresses. The lonely kitchen was blest with society at last, to its mistress’s heart’s content. They talked as fast as possible about the weather, and how warm it had been walking up the mountain, and how cold it had been a year ago, that day when Abby Pendexter had been kept at home by a snowstorm and missed her visit. “And I ain’t seen you now, aunt, since the twenty-eighth of September, but I’ve thought of you a great deal, and looked forward to comin’ more ’n usual,” she ended, with an affectionate glance at the pleased old face by the window. “I’ve been wantin’ to see you, dear, and wonderin’ how you was gettin’ on,” said Aunt Cynthy kindly. “And I take it as a great attention to have you come to-day, Mis’ Hand,” she added, turning again towards the more distinguished guest. “We have to put one thing against another. I should hate dreadfully to live anywhere except on a high hill farm, ‘cordin’ as I was born an’ raised. But there ain’t the chance to neighbor that townfolks has, an’ I do seem to have more lonely hours than I used to when I was younger. I don’t know but I shall soon be gittin’ too old to live alone.” And she turned to her niece with an expectant, lovely look, and Abby smiled back. “I often wish I could run in an’ see you every day, aunt,” she answered. “I have been sayin’ so to Mrs. Hand.” “There, how anybody does relish company when they don’t have but a little of it!” exclaimed Aunt Cynthia. “I am all alone to-day; there is going to be a shootin’-match somewhere the other side o’ the mountain, an’ Johnny Foss, that does my chores, begged off to go when he brought the milk unusual early this mornin’. Gener’lly he’s about here all the fore part of the day; but he don’t go off with the boys very often, and I like to have him have a little sport; ’twas New Year’s Day, anyway; he’s a good, stiddy boy for my wants.” “Why, I wish you Happy New Year, aunt!” said Abby, springing up with unusual spirit. “Why, that’s just what we come to say, and we like to have forgot all about it!” She kissed her aunt, and stood a minute holding her hand with a soft, affectionate touch. Mrs. Hand rose and kissed Mrs. Dallett too, and it was a moment of ceremony and deep feeling.