that had been Great-grandfather's, and watched the two old women at
work. The first cookie had disappeared now, and the second was well on
the way. She felt a great appeasement in her insides. She leaned back
against the old dresses hung on the wall and drew a long breath.

"Well," said Aunt Hetty, "you've got neighbors up your way, so they tell
me. Funny thing, a city man coming up here to live. He'll never stick it
out. The summer maybe. But that's all. You just see, come autumn, if he
don't light out for New York again."

Elly made no comment on this. She often heard her elders say that she
was not a talkative child, and that it was hard to get anything out of
her. That was because mostly they wanted to know about things she
hadn't once thought of noticing, and weren't a bit interested when she
tried to talk about what she _had_ noticed. Just imagine trying to tell
Aunt Hetty about that poor old gray snow-bank out in her woods, all
lonely and scrumpled up! She went on eating her cookie.

"How does he like it, anyhow?" asked Aunt Hetty, bending the upper part
of her out of the window to shake something. "And what kind of a critter
is he?"

"Well, he's rather an old man," said Elly. She added conscientiously,
trying to be chatty, "Paul's crazy about him. He goes over there all the
time to visit. I like him all right. The old man seems to like it here
all right. They both of them do."

"Both?" said Aunt Hetty, curving herself back into the room again.

"Oh, the other one isn't going to _live_ here, like Mr. Welles. He's