She was quite willing to talk; the long black night had made her glad of companionship.

“I took Annie to Rochester, down in Minnesota, to see the doctors there—­the Mayos—­did you ever hear of the Mayos?  Well, Dr. Smale, at Rose Valley, said they were her only hope.  Annie had been ailing for years, and Dr. Smale had done all he could for her.  Dr. Moore, our old doctor, wouldn’t hear of it; he said an operation would kill her, but Annie was set on going.  I heard Annie say to him that she’d rather die than live sick, and she would go to Rochester.  Dave Johnston—­Annie’s man, that is—­he drinks, you know—­”

The old lady’s voice fell and her tired old face seemed to take on deeper lines of trouble as she sat silent with her own sad thoughts.  I expressed my sorrow.

“Yes, Annie had her own troubles, poor girl,” she said at last; “and she was a good girl, Annie was, and she deserved something better.  She was a tender-hearted girl, and gentle and quiet, and never talked back to anyone, to Dave least of all, for she worshipped the very ground he walked on, and married him against all our wishes.  She thought she could reform him!”

She said it sadly, but without bitterness.

“Was he good to her?” I asked.  People draw near together in the stormy dark of a winter’s morning, and the thought of Annie in her narrow box ahead robbed my question of any rudeness.

“He was good to her in his own way,” Annie’s mother said, trying to be quite just, “but it was a rough way.  She had a fine, big, brick house to live in—­it was a grand house, but it was a lonely house.  He often went away and stayed for weeks, and her not knowing where he was or how he would come home.  He worried her always.  The doctor said that was part of her trouble—­he worried her too much.”

“Did he ever try to stop drinking?” I asked.  I wanted to think better of him if I could.

“Yes, he did; he was sober once for nearly a year, and Annie’s health was better than it had been for years, but the crowd around the hotel there in Rose Valley got after him every chance, and one Christmas Day they got him going again.  Annie never could bear to mention about him drinkin’ to anyone, not even me—­it would ha’ been easier on her if she could ha’ talked about it, but she wasn’t one of the talkin’ kind.”

We sat in silence, listening to the pounding of the rails.

“Everybody was kind to her in Rochester,” she said, after a while.  “When we were sitting there waitin’ our turn—­you know how the sick people wait there in two long rows, waitin’ to be taken in to the consultin’ room, don’t you?  Well, when we were sittin’ there Annie was sufferin’ pretty bad, and we were still a long way from the top of the line.  Dr. Judd was takin’ them off as fast as he could, and the ambulances were drivin’ off every few minutes, takin’ them away to the hospital after the doctors had decided what was wrong with them.