“Ann Lizy sent over to see if you’d made up your mind,” said Adoniram.

Amanda started.  “Good-mornin’, Mr. Babcock.  Yes, you can tell her I have.  I’m a-goin’.”

There was a reckless defiance of faith in Amanda’s voice.  She had a wild air as she stood there with the broom in a faint swirl of dust.

“Well, Ann Lizy’ll be glad you’ve made up your mind to.  She’s gone to bakin’,” said the old man in the window.

“I’ve got to bake some, too,” said Amanda.  She began sweeping again.

“I’ve jest been over to Mis’ Green’s, an’ she says she’s goin’ if you do,” said Mr. Babcock.

“Well, you tell her I’m goin’,” said Amanda, with a long breath.

“I guess you’ll have a good time,” said the old man, turning away.  “I tell Ann Lizy she can stay a month if she wants to.  Me an’ the boys can git along.”  He laughed a pleasant chuckle as he went off.

Amanda glanced after him.  “I shouldn’t care if I had a man to leave to look after the house,” said she.

Amanda toiled all day; she swept and dusted every room in her little domicile.  She put all her bureau drawers and closets in exquisite order.  She did not neglect even the cellar and the garret.  Mrs. Babcock, looking in at night, found her rolling out sugar gingerbread.

“For the land sakes, Mandy!” said she, “what are you cookin’ by lamp-light for this awful hot night?”

“I’m makin’ a little short gingerbread for luncheon.”

“I don’t see what you left it till this time of day for.  What you got them irons on the stove for?”

“I’ve got to iron my muslin sacque.  I’ve got it all washed and starched.”

“Ironin’ this time of day!  I’d like to know what you’ve been doin’ ever since you got up?”

“I’ve been getting everything in order, in case anything happened,” replied Amanda.  She tried to speak with cool composure, but her voice trembled.  Her dignity failed her in this unwonted excitement.

“What’s goin’ to happen, for the land sake?” cried Mrs. Babcock.

“I dunno.  None of us know.  Things do happen sometimes.”

Mrs. Babcock stared at her, half in contempt, half in alarm.  “I hope you ain’t had no forewarnin’ that you ain’t goin’ to live nor anything,” said she.  “If you have, I should think you’d better stay to home.”

“I ain’t had no more forewarnin’ than anybody,” said Amanda.  “All is, there ain’t nobody in the other part of the house.  The Simmonses all went yesterday to make a visit at her mother’s, and in case anything should happen, I’m goin’ to leave things lookin’ so I’m willin’ anybody should see ’em.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Babcock, “I guess you couldn’t leave things so you’d be willin’ anybody’d see ’em if you had three men folks afoul of ’em for three days.  I’ve got to be goin’ if I git up for that four-o’clock train in the mornin’.  I’ve made fifteen pies an’ five loaves of bread, besides bakin’ beans, to say nothin’ of a great panful of doughnuts an’ some cake.  I ain’t been up garret nor down cellar cleanin’, an’ if anything happens to me, I s’pose folks’ll see some dust and cobwebs, but I’ve done considerable.  Adoniram’s goin’ to take us all down in the covered wagon; he’ll be round about half-past four.”