"Wal then, you better lift a laig an' git up to the ol' Day house," Walky observed. "If ye ever seen a stir-about ye'll see one there. I dunno but ol' Jase'll hev a fit an' step in it. And as for Miz' Day, she's jest erbout dissolved in tears by now, as the feller said. An', believe me! if she does dissolve there'll purt' nigh be a deluge on this hillside, an' no mistake!"
Before he had finished and clucked to the sleeping Josephus, Nelson Haley had reached the corner of Hillside Avenue and was striding up the ascent to the Day house. He saw several people come to their front doors, and he knew they would have hailed him had he given them a chance. Everybody seemed to be aware of this startling happening but himself.
He went into the kitchen of the Day house without knocking. His gaze fell upon the ample Mrs. Day weaving to and fro in her rocking chair, her apron to her eyes, while Uncle Jason was sitting dejectedly in his chair upon the other side of the stove, with his dead pipe clutched fast between his teeth.
"Mr. Haley!" the man exclaimed. "Have a cheer."
"Oh! oh!" sobbed Aunt 'Mira, shaking like a mold of jelly.
"I don't want a chair!" ejaculated Nelson, placing his bag on the uncleared dining table. "I've just heard of it. What does it mean?"
"She's gone," Uncle Jason said gloomily.
"They've gone," sobbed Aunt 'Mira.
"We dunno that—not for sure. We don't know they're gone together. Janice didn't say a thing about Marty in her letter," and he pointed to an open letter on the table. "Read it, Mr. Haley," he added.
The schoolmaster seized the note Janice had left on her pin-cushion and read: