These indications were dolefully noted by one person in particular, to
whom they meant more than to others in general. This was the good old
Irishwoman who kept the apple and peanut stand at the street corner,
and was the centre of attraction to the children on their way to and
from school.

"Wisha, this is goin' to be a wild night, I'm thinkin'!" sighed she,
wrapping a faded and much-worn "broshay" shawl more securely about her,
and striving to protect both herself and her wares beneath the shelter
of a dilapidated umbrella, one of the ribs of which had parted company
with the cotton covering,--escaped from its moorings, as it were, and
stood out independently. "Glory be to God, but what bad luck I've had
the day!" she continued under her breath, from habit still scanning the
faces of the passers-by, though she had now faint hope that any would
pause to purchase. "An' it's a bigger lot than usual I laid in, too.
The peanuts is extry size; an' them Baldwins look so fine and rosy, I
thought it ud make anybody's mouth water to see them. I counted upon
the schoolb'ys to buy them up in a twinklin', by reason of me markin'
them down to two for a cent. An' so they would, but they're so taken
up with sportin' in the snow that they can think of nothin' else. An'
now that it's turned so raw, sure I'm afraid it's cold comfort any one
but a lad would think it, settin' his teeth on edge tryin' to eat them.
I'll tarry a bit longer; an' then, if no better fortune comes, I'll
take meself to me little room, even though I'll have to drink me tea
without a tint of milk or a dust of sugar the night, and be thankful
for that same."

Patiently she waited. The clock struck five. As no other customers
appeared, the old woman, who was known as Widow Barry, concluded that