Thankful protested.  “Oh, no, no!” she declared.  “No harder’n anybody else’s, I guess likely.  This world has more hards than softs for the average mortal and I never flattered myself on bein’ above the average.  But there!  How in the nation did I get onto this subject?  You and me settin’ here on other folks’s furniture—­or what was furniture once—­soppin’ wet through and half froze, and me talkin’ about troubles that’s all dead and done with!  What did get me started?  Oh, yes, the storm.  I was just thinkin’ how most of the important things in my life had had bad weather mixed up with ’em.  Come to think of it, it rained the day Mrs. Pearson was buried.  And her dyin’ was what set me to thinkin’ of cruisin’ down here to East Wellmouth and lookin’ at the property Uncle Abner left me.  I’ve never laid eyes on that property and I don’t even know what the house looks like.  I might have asked that depot-wagon driver, but I thought ‘twas no use tellin’ him my private affairs, so I said we was bound to the hotel, and let it go at that.  If I had asked he might at least have told me where. . . .  Hey?  Why—­why—­my land!  I never thought of it, but it might be!  It might!  Emily!”

But Miss Howes’ eyes were closed now.  In spite of her wet garments and her nervousness concerning their burglarious entry of the empty house she had fallen asleep.  Thankful did not attempt to wake her.  Instead she tiptoed to the kitchen and the woodbox, took from the latter the last few slabs of pine wood and, returning, filled the stove to the top.  Then she sat down in the chair once more.

For some time she sat there, her hands folded in her lap.  Occasionally she glanced about the room and her lips moved as if she were talking to herself.  Then she rose and peered out of the window.  Rain and blackness and storm were without, but nothing else.  She returned to the sofa and stood looking down at the sleeper.  Emily stirred a little and shivered.

That shiver helped to strengthen the fears in Mrs. Barnes’ mind.  The girl was not strong.  She had come home from her school duties almost worn out.  A trip such as this had been was enough to upset even the most robust constitution.  She was wet and cold.  Sleeping in wet clothes was almost sure to bring on the dreaded pneumonia.  If only there might be something in that house, something dry and warm with which to cover her.

“Emily,” said Thankful, in a low tone.  “Emily.”

The sleeper did not stir.  Mrs. Barnes took up the lantern.  Its flame was much less bright than it had been and the wick sputtered.  She held the lantern to her ear and shook it gently.  The feeble “swash” that answered the shake was not reassuring.  The oil was almost gone.

Plainly if exploring of those upper rooms was to be done it must be done at once.  With one more glance at the occupant of the sofa Mrs. Barnes, lantern in hand, tiptoed from the room, through the barren front hall and up the stairs.  The stairs creaked abominably.  Each creak echoed like the crack of doom.