"Won't you put it in order, as you used to do, this one time more?"
"If I can get a saw, I will, Winnie, — or a hatchet."
"I'm sorry we can't do it but this one time more," said Winnie, with a second and a better defined sigh, as they reached the house level. "O how funny it looks, Governor! how the grass has run up! and how brown it is! But the cedars don't change, do they?"
"It is August, Winnie," was all Winthrop's remark.
The front of the house was shut up; they went round. Old Anderese was cutting wood at the back of the house; but without stopping to enlighten him, Winthrop passed on and led Winnie into the kitchen. There the kitchen fire was burning as of yore, and on the hearth before it stood Karen, stooping down to oversee her cooking breakfast. At Winthrop's voice she started and turned. She looked at them; and then came a long and prolonged "Oh! —" of most mingled and varied tone and expression; hands and eyes keeping it company.
"Karen, we have come to see you."
In perfect silence she shook the hand of each, and then sat down and threw her apron over her face. Winnie stood still and sobbed; Winthrop walked off.
"Oh, dear," said the old woman presently rising and coming up to Winnie, — "what's made ye come to see me again? What did you come for, dear?"
The tone was wondering and caressing, and rejoicing, all in a breath. Winnie dried her eyes and answered as well as she could.
"Why we wanted to see the old place again, Karen, and to see you; and Governor thought it would do me good to be in the country a little while; and he couldn't come before, and so we have come up now to stay a few days. And we've brought things to eat, so you needn't be troubled about that."