“I don’t know,” shuddered Ella. “Sh-h! I thought I heard her.” And she hurried across the hall to the sitting-room and the bedroom beyond.
It did not snow much through the night, but in the early morning it began again with increased severity. The wind rose, too, and by the time Herrick, the undertaker, drove into the yard, the storm had become a blizzard.
“I calc’lated if I didn’t git this ’ere coffin here purty quick there wouldn’t be no gettin’ it here yet awhile,” called Herrick cheerfully, as Jim came to the door.
Jim flushed and raised a warning hand.
“Sh-h! Herrick, look out!” he whispered hoarsely. “She ain’t dead yet. You’ll have ter go back.”
“Go back!” snorted Herrick. “Why, man alive, ’twas as much as my life’s worth to get here. There won’t be no goin’ back yet awhile fer me nor no one else, I calc’late. An’ the quicker you get this ’ere coffin in out of the snow, the better’t will be,” he went on authoritatively as he leaped to the ground.
It was not without talk and a great deal of commotion that the untimely addition to James Norton’s household effects was finally deposited in the darkened parlor; neither was it accomplished without some echo of the confusion reaching the sick-room, despite all efforts of concealment. Jim, perspiring, red-faced, and palpably nervous, was passing on tiptoe through the sitting-room when a quavering voice from the bedroom brought him to a halt.
“Jim, is that you?”
“Yes, Aunt Abby.”
“Who’s come?”