The perilous feat was accomplished without tragedy. After she had had a nap, propped up in the bed, Mrs. Dobson's soul rose to greater heights of daring, when Abilonia remarked that Mrs. Dobson's plum-colored silk was the very thing for a lining to her own silk quilt, and as it would not be worn again she might as well take it over and make it up. She was adding that she would like to have a crayon portrait made of Mr. Dobson to hang beside that of his wife which adorned the parlor in ante-mortem state, when Marthy interrupted: "Abilonia, go you and git me a dress. There ought to be a brown poplin hangin' in the little room closet, unless somebody moved it last spring in housecleanin' time. You bring that down. I want to git my feet onto the floor." When Andrew came home to get dinner he stopped in the kitchen door, dumb with amazement. Marthy sat by the table in the big wooden chair peeling apples, while Abilonia rolled out the pie crust and told about the church quilting bee. The next Sunday Andrew did not change his best suit, as usual, after church, and his wife remarked the fact as she sat in a blanketed chair by the living room fire in the evening, with her "Christian Register" in her hand. "Well, you know--I've ben thinkin'--Abby's settin' over there by herself, and it must be lonesome for the girl. And--if I'm--sort of--engaged to her--don't you see, Marthy? I don't want to leave you--but it's my duty to keep company with her. I want to carry out your wishes exact--every one. You can't ask a thing too hard for me to do." "Yes, I know that, Andrew. If ever a man done his duty, it's you. And you've had little reward for it, too. I'm tryin' to git you a second wife that'll have her health and--and--yes, I presume to say that Abilonia'll ruther look for you to set a while, now that she is bespoke to you." "Yes, that's what I guess I ought to do," and he rose briskly. "Say, Andrew! Don't be in such a hurry. Come back a minute. You gear up ole Jule to the buggy and git down a comforter for me. I c'n walk some, to-day, and if you help me I c'n git into the buggy. I feel like the air would do me good.--Yes, I presume to say it'll be the death of me, but you never knew me to stop for that, did you? Git my circular cloak and the white cloud for my head. Yes, I'm goin', Andrew. When I git my mind made up, you know what it means." There was a light in Abilonia's parlor when they drove up, and a man's figure showed through the glass panel of the door as he opened it. "Willy Parks!" cried Mrs. Dobson in a queer voice. "Yes, walk right in, Mr. Dobson. That isn't Mrs. Dobson with you--is it possible!--after so many years. Let me help you steady her. Well, this is a surprise! Just walk into the parlor and sit down. Abby's down cellar putting away the milk, but she'll be up in a minute."