Mr. Pease did not say anything more, but studied the _Old Farmer's
Almanac_ again, and found out it was likely to be fair weather for
the season.

It was past midnight, and the hearth fire was raked down, and
Comfort's father and mother and grandmother were all in bed and
asleep, when a little figure in a white nightgown, holding a lighted
candle, padding softly on little cold bare feet, came down the
stairs. Comfort paused in the entry and listened. She could hear the
clock tick and her father snore. The best parlor door was on the
right. She lifted the brass catch cautiously, and pushed the door
open. Then she stole into the best parlor. The close, icy air smote
her like a breath from the north pole. There was no fire in the best
parlor except on Thanksgiving day, and perhaps twice besides, when
there was company to tea, from fall to spring. The cold therein
seemed condensed and concentrated; the haircloth sofa and chairs and
the mahogany table seemed to give out cold as stoves did heat.

There were two coffin-plates and funeral wreaths, which had belonged
to the uncles of Comfort who had died before she was born, in frames
on the wall, and these always scared Comfort.

She kept her eyes away from them as she went swiftly on her little
bare feet, which had no feeling in them as they pressed the icy
floor, across to the mahogany card-table, whereon was set the
rosewood work-box.

Comfort set her candle on the table, and turned the key of the box
with her stiff fingers. Then she raised the lid noiselessly, and
there lay the ring in a little square compartment of the tray. Next