Cyrus was moved to some remonstrance. He often felt the necessity of
asserting himself, lest he should presently hear his own passing-bell
and epitaph.

"I guess you needn't stop steamin' bread for me! I ain't half so
stuffed up as I was yisterday!"

Mrs. Pendleton clapped the loaf into the pot, wrinkling her face over
the cloud of steam that came puffing into it.

"There!" she exclaimed. "Now perhaps I can git a minute to se' down. I
ain't bound a shoe to-day. My! who's that out this weather?"

The side door was pushed open, and then shut with a bang. A vigorous
stamping of snow followed, and the inner door swung in to admit a
woman, very short, very stout, with a round, apple-cheeked face, and
twinkling eyes looking out from the enveloping folds of a gray cloud.

"Well!" she said, in a cheery voice, beginning at once to unwind the
cloud, "here I be! Didn't think I'd rain down, did ye? I thought
myself, one spell, I should freeze afore I fell!"

Mrs. Pendleton hurried forward, wiping her hands on her apron as she
went.

"For the land's sake, Marthy Wadleigh!" she cried, laying hold of the
new-comer by the shoulders, and giving her an ineffectual but wholly
delighted shake. "Well, I never! Who brought you over? Though I dunno
which way you come. I 'ain't looked out--"