Quincy broke the silence. "I am afraid, Uncle Ike, that I have caused you much inconvenience by driving you out of that pleasant front room where I found my trunk."
"Not a bit," replied Uncle Ike. "I hate carpets, and I prefer to sleep in my own bed, and what's more, I wanted to put up my stove, and there was no chance in that front room. When real cold weather comes I always have a ton of coal for my stove, so I am much better off where I am than I would be downstairs. By the way, 'Zeke, just tell me all about Alice again. You won't mind Mr. Sawyer; he is one of the family now."
"Well," said Ezekiel, "Alice was taken sick about the middle of December. The folks where she boarded sent for a doctor. It was about eight o'clock in the morning when she was taken, and it was noon before she got easy, so they could get her to bed. She thought she was getting better; then, she had another attack; then she thought she was getting better again, and the third attack was the worst of the three. The folks wanted to write to me, but she wouldn't let them. When she really did begin to get better, she found out there was something that was worse than being sick. She found she couldn't see to read either print or writing, but Alice is a spunky girl, and she wouldn't give in, even then. A friend told her to go and see Dr. Moses, who was an eye doctor, and put herself right under his treatment. She thought she was going to get well right off at first, but when she found it was likely to be a long job, then she gave in and wrote to me. She has brought her treatment down with her, and the doctor says she will have to go to Boston once a month to see him, as he is too busy to come down here."
At this point in the proceedings the door opened and Mandy entered, bringing a large dish of big red apples and another full of cracked shellbarks. She left the room and returned almost immediately with a large dish full of popcorn.
"Have an apple?" said Ezekiel. "Help yourselves; we don't pass anything round here. We put the things on the table and each one helps himself."
Mandy came in again, bringing a large pitcher of cider and some glasses, which she placed upon the table.
While the three men were discussing their country evening lunch in silence, an animated conversation was taking place in the kitchen, the participants being Mandy, Mrs. Bridget Crowley, and Hiram, who always dropped in during the evening to get his glass of cider, a luxury that was not dispensed at Deacon Mason's.
"Well," said Mandy, "I think it's wasteful extravagance for you Irish folks to spend so much money on carriages when one of your friends happens to die. As you just said, when you lived in Boston you own up you spent fourteen dollars in one month going to funerals, and you paid a dollar a seat each time."
"I did that," said Mrs. Crowley, "and I earned every bit of it doing washing, for Pat, bless his sowl, was out of work at the time."
"Just think of that!" said Mandy, turning to Hiram.