'I’ll go if you’ll go, too. I just hate to go to bed knowing all the rest of you are up.'
'Me go to bed! Why these trousers of yours aren’t finished yet and I’ve got to mend Tom’s shirt and your father’s coat, and then there’s the bread to set. Much chance I have to go to bed for a couple of hours, yet! Now you run along. If you go like a good boy, you can have a cooky.'
She put the thimble on her finger and bent over her mending again. She sewed steadily on until an hour later, when she heard the buggy drive into the yard and one of the boys came running in to ask her if she knew where the barn-lantern was. It was in the cellar, and there was barely enough oil to make a dim light while the horse was being unharnessed. The boys were sent to bed immediately, with an injunction to be quiet so Billy would not be awakened. She heard the heavy tread of her husband in the kitchen, as he hunted for the dipper to get a drink of water. Then he came into the sitting-room, sat down in a chair, and began pulling off his shoes. He groaned as he did it.
'Say, Em,' he said, 'guess who I saw in town to-night?'
'Who?' was the unimaginative response.
'You’d never guess in a hundred years. You’d never guess what she did, either. She sent you these.'
He drew from his pocket a package and a sheet of notepaper. The woman looked at them for a moment, but she didn’t touch them.
'Hurry up, Em,' said the man. 'They won’t bite you.'
'But what—' she faltered.
'The best way to find out about 'em is to open 'em.'