And in another minute the little widow, hanging to Susan, was off the steps, the box was dragged over them by the united efforts of the three boys, their progress very much impeded by the crowding up of the girls, who were afraid they would miss something of the progress, Mr. Bramble looking on in great satisfaction. Then he climbed into his wagon, stared at the little cabin for another minute, where they had all disappeared, and drove off, blowing his nose violently, his eyes seeming to need a great deal of attention from the back of his gray woollen mitten.
Down went the big box with a thud in the very middle of the kitchen floor.
"Get the hammer," screamed Elvira, capering wildly, her black braids, tied with bits of string, flying out from either side of her head. "I'm goin' to get it myself," with a leap toward the corner.
"No such thing," Matthew roared at her. "I'll get it. Come back, Viry."
"The axe,"—Mark shouted it high above the din, as he rushed to get that necessary implement,—"that's better'n the hammer."
"Oo—Oo—Scree!" Susan, in dreadful distress at being bound in mother's arms, let her feelings have free vent in a wail that soared high above the crackling of the box cover as it splintered under the effort of both hammer and axe.
"And we can keep warm now." The little widow's eyes glistened at the pile of splintered boards tumbling down on the kitchen floor. "Oh, Susan," and she drew near, the whole cover being off now.
There was an awful pause, every one staring at the smooth layer of brown paper. The supreme importance of the event swept them all into silence.