Amanda lighted Mrs. Babcock out the front door; then she returned to her tasks.  She did not go to bed that night.  She had put her bedroom in perfect order, and would not disturb it.  She lay down on her hard parlor sofa awhile, but she slept very little.  At two o’clock she kindled a fire, made some tea, and cooked an egg for her breakfast.  Then she arrayed herself in her best dress.  She was all ready, her bag and basket of luncheon packed and her bonnet on, at three o’clock.  She sat down and folded her hands to wait, but presently started up.  “I’m going to do it,” said she.  “I don’t care, I am.  I can’t feel easy unless I do.”

She got some writing-paper and pen and ink from the chimney cupboard and sat down at the table.  She wrote rapidly, her lips pursed, her head to one side.  Then she folded the paper, wrote on the outside, and arranged it conspicuously on the top of a leather-covered Bible on the centre of the table.  “There!” said she.  “It ain’t regular, I s’pose, an’ I ain’t had any lawyer, but I guess they’d carry out my wishes if anything happened to me.  I ain’t got nobody but Cousin Rhoda Hill, an’ Cousin Maria Bennet; an’ Rhoda don’t need a cent, an’ Maria’d ought to have it all.  This house will make her real comfortable, an’ my clothes will fit her.  I s’pose I’d have this dress on, but my black alpaca’s pretty good.  I s’pose Mis’ Babcock would laugh, but I feel a good deal easier about goin’.”

Amanda waited again; she blew out her lamp, for the early dawnlight strengthened.  She listened intently for wheels, and looked anxiously at the clock.  “It would be dreadful if we got left, after all,” she said.

Suddenly the covered wagon came in sight; the white horse trotted at a good pace.  Adoniram held the reins and his wife sat beside him.  Mrs. Green peered out from the back seat.  “Mandy!  Mandy!” Mrs. Babcock called, before they reached the gate.  But Amanda was already on the front door-step, fitting the key in the lock.

“I’m all ready,” she answered, “jest as soon as I can get the door locked.”

“We ain’t got any too much time,” cried Mrs. Babcock.

Amanda went down the path with her basket and black valise and parasol.  Adoniram got out and helped her into the wagon.  She had to climb over the front seat.  As they drove off she leaned out and gazed back at the house.  Her tortoise-shell cat was coming around the corner.  “I do hope the cat will get along all right,” she said agitatedly.  “I’ve fed her this mornin’, an’ I’ve left her enough milk till I get back—­a saucerful for each day—­an’ Abby said she’d give her all the scraps off the table, you know, Mis’ Green.”

Mrs. Babcock turned around.  “Now, Amanda Pratt,” said she, “I’d like to know how in creation you’ve left a saucerful of milk for that cat for every day till you get back.”

“I set ten saucers full of milk down cellar,” replied Amanda, still staring back anxiously at the cat—­“one for each day.  I got extra milk last night on purpose.  She likes it jest as well if it’s sour, if the saucer’s clean.”