The widow was feeding Bose and the cat (who thought they were entitled to a share of every meal eaten in the house), and did not quite hear what he said.
"Fine dog, ma'am, and a very pretty cat."
"They were my husband's favorites," and a sigh followed the answer.
"Ah, your husband must have been a very happy man."
The blue eyes looked at her so long, that she grew flurried.
"Is there anything more I can get for you, sir?" she asked, at last.
"Nothing, thank you; I have finished."
She rose to clear the things away. He assisted her, and somehow their hands had a queer knack of touching as they carried the dishes to the pantry shelves. Coming back to the kitchen, she put the apples and cider in their old places, and brought out a clean pipe and a box of tobacco from an arched recess near the chimney.
"My husband always said he could not sleep after eating supper late unless he smoked," she said. "Perhaps you would like to try it."
"Not if it is to drive you away," he answered, for she had her candle in her hand.