Then he halted.

Opposite him was the little Edwards dwelling and shop.

The curtains were up and there was a lamp burning on the small counter.
Beside the lamp, in a rocking chair, sat Olive Edwards, the widow, sewing.

As he gazed she dropped the sewing in her lap, and raised her head.
Phinney saw how worn and sad she looked.

And yet, how young, considering her forty years and all she had endured and must endure.