wouldn't know she was movin'. But I heard her up in her room cryin'
half an hour later, when I stopped a minute at her door to see if she
was there. An' she was.

"But she wasn't cryin' by night. Not much she was! She'd washed her
face an' dressed herself up as pretty as could be, an' she never so
much as looked as if she wanted her husband to stay with her, when
he said right after supper that he guessed he'd go out to the
observatory. An' 't was that way right along after that. I know,
'cause I watched. You see, I knew what she'd _said_ she'd do. Well,
she did it.

"Then, pretty quick after that, she began to get acquainted in the
town. Folks called, an' there was parties an' receptions where she
met folks, an' they began to come here to the house, 'specially them
students, an' two or three of them young, unmarried professors. An'
she began to go out a lot with them--skatin' an' sleigh-ridin' an'
snowshoein'.

"Like it? Of course she liked it! Who wouldn't? Why, child, you never
saw such a fuss as they made over your ma in them days. She was all
the rage; an' of course she liked it. What woman wouldn't, that was
gay an' lively an' young, an' had been so lonesome like your ma had?
But some other folks didn't like it. An' your pa was one of them. This
time 't was him that made the trouble. I know, 'cause I heard what he
said one day to her in the library.

"Yes, I guess I was in the next room that day, too--er--dustin',
probably. Anyway, I heard him tell your ma good an' plain what he
thought of her gallivantin' 'round from mornin' till night with them