Before another month had passed, the
round of visits was accomplished, and the little old man and the little
old woman--having been carried to their destination in each case by
their latest host--finally arrived at the farmhouse door. They were
weary, penniless, and half-sick from being feasted and f?ted at every
turn, but they were blissfully conscious that of no one had they been
obliged to beg the price of their journey home.
"We didn't write we were comin'," apologized Jeremiah faintly, as he
stumbled across the threshold and dropped into the nearest chair. "We
were goin' ter write from Keziah's, but we were so tired we hurried
right up an' come home. 'Tis nice ter get here; ain't it, Hester?" he
finished, settling back in his chair.
"'Nice'!" cried Hester tremulously, tugging at her bonnet strings.
"'Nice' ain't no name for it, Jeremiah. Why, Sarah Ellen, seems if I
don't want to do nothin' for a whole month but set in my own room an'
jest look 'round all day!"
"You poor dear--and that's all you shall do!" soothed Sarah Ellen; and
Hester sighed, content. For so many, many weeks now she had sat upon
strange chairs and looked out upon an unfamiliar world!
* * * * *
It was midwinter when Jeremiah's last pair of shoes gave out.
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