“No, don’t, that’s a good boy,” exclaimed Hannah, interrupting him in alarm, for she had a perfect horror of books.  “You know it would tire me to death, dear!  But just you sit down by me and tell me about Mrs. Middleton and Miss Merlin and how they were dressed.  For you know, dear, as I haven’t been able to go to church these three months, I don’t even know what sort of bonnets ladies wear.”

This requirement was for a moment a perfect “poser” to Ishmael.  He wasn’t interested in bonnets!  But, however, as he had the faculty of seeing, understanding, and remembering everything that fell under his observation in his own limited sphere, he blew out his candle, sat down and complied with his aunt’s request, narrating and describing until she went to sleep.  Then he relighted his little bit of candle and sat down to enjoy his book in comfort.

That night the wind shifted to the south and brought in a mild spell of weather.

The next day the snow began to melt.  In a week it was entirely gone.  In a fortnight the ground had dried.  All the roads became passable.  With the improved weather, Hannah grew better.  She was able to leave her bed in the morning and sit in her old arm-chair in the chimney-corner all day.

The professor came to look after his pupil.

Poor old odd-jobber!  In his palmiest days he had never made more than sufficient for the support of his large family; he had never been able to lay up any money; and so, during this long and severe winter, when he was frozen out of work, he and his humble household suffered many privations; not so many as Hannah and Ishmael had; for you see, there are degrees of poverty even among the very poor.

And the good professor knew this; and so on that fine March morning, when he made his appearance at the hut, it was with a bag of flour on his back and a side of bacon in his hand.

After the primitive manners of the neighborhood, he dispensed with rapping, and just lifted the latch and walked in.

He found Hannah sitting propped up in her arm-chair in the chimney-corner engaged in knitting and glancing ruefully at the unfinished web of cloth in the motionless loom, at which she was not yet strong enough to work.

Ishmael was washing his own clothes in a little tub in the other corner.

“Morning, Miss Hannah!  Morning, young Ishmael!” said the professor, depositing both his bag and bacon on the floor.  “I thought I had better just drop in and see after my ’prentice.  Work has been frozen up all winter, and now, like the rivers and the snow-drifts, it is thawed and coming with a rush!  I’m nigh torn to pieces by the people as has been sending after me; and I thought I would just take young Ishmael on again to help me.  And—­as I heard how you’d been disabled along of the rheumatism, Miss Hannah, and wasn’t able to do no weaving, and as I knowed young Ishmael would be out of work as long as I was, I just made so free, Miss Hannah, as to bring you this bag of flour and middling of bacon, which I hope you’ll do me the honor of accepting from a well-wisher.”