There was a wail along the
road, as if a funeral were passing. To chase away the gloom, the
family threw pine branches on their fire, till the dry leaves crackled
and the flame arose, discovering once again a scene of peace and
humble happiness. The light hovered about them fondly, and caressed
them all. There were the little faces of the children, peeping from
their bed apart, and here the father's frame of strength, the mother's
subdued and careful mien, the high-browed youth, the budding girl, and
the good old grandam, still knitting in the warmest place. The aged
woman looked up from her task, and, with fingers ever busy, was the
next to speak.
"Old folks have their notions," said she, "as well as young ones.
You've been wishing and planning; and letting your heads run on one
thing and another, till you've set my mind a-wandering too. Now what
should an old woman wish for, when she can go but a step or two before
she comes to her grave? Children, it will haunt me night and day
till I tell you."
"What is it, mother?" cried the husband and wife at once.
Then the old woman, with an air of mystery which drew the circle
closer round the fire, informed them that she had provided her
grave-clothes some years before- a nice linen shroud, a cap with a
muslin ruff, and everything of a finer sort than she had worn since
her wedding day. But this evening an old superstition had strangely
recurred to her.
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