uneasily about the room, muttering a discontented half-mew. Without, the clouds that all the morning had been trooping up from the under-world, and massing their forces far out at sea, found themselves ready to unmask their batteries, and with a shrill blast of onset swept down in a terrific whirl of wind and sleet and sand from the beach, all hurtling together against the window and down the wide-throated chimney, swooping the ashes from the hearth far across the floor, and into the cat's great golden eyes, until she arched her back, and spit and miauled in angry terror.
Roused from her revery, Molly looked about her for a moment abstractedly; then, with a visible effort at self-command, resuming her usual manner, she rose and went to the window, and saw that the storm had burst in snow and sleet, with every appearance of continuance.
"All the better. The Hetherfords will keep away," said she aloud, then, looking about her, saw that her careful father had supplied her with wood and water for twenty-four hours at least, and remembered that a man from the Hetherford farm was to look after the live-stock at the barn until Amariah's return with the horse and wagon next day. Then she swept up the ashes, prepared dinner for herself and Tabitha, and, when all was again in order, resumed her spinning, but not her song,—no, not even her hymn. Four o'clock, and the outer porch door was thrown violently open, the inner latch rattled, and a shrill voice cried,—
"Molly! Molly Wilder! Let me in! It's me!"
