The old man came in cold and weary, and the sight of the half-tended kitchen and neglected fire--they paid a neighbor to do the housework, as far as the care of her own seven children would let her--suddenly revived in his slippery mind the memory of his niece, who, with all her faults, had had the makings of a housewife, and for whom, in spite of her flouts and jeers, he had always cherished a secret admiration.

As he came in he noticed that the door to the left hand, leading into what Westmoreland folk call the 'house' or sitting-room of the farm, was open.

The room had hardly been used since Mary's flight, and the few pieces of black oak and shining mahogany which adorned it had long ago fallen from their pristine polish.

The geraniums and fuchsias with which she had filled the window all the summer before, had died into dry blackened stalks; and the dust lay heavy on the room, in spite of the well-meant but wholly ineffective efforts of the charwoman next door.

The two old men had avoided the place for months past by common consent, and the door into it was hardly ever opened.
Now, however, it stood ajar, and old Jim going up to shut it, and looking in, was struck dumb with astonishment.