She was taking snuff.

It was the widow Mehitable Allen, a lady whom I had often seen in other houses on similar occasions.
"Shoo," she whispered nasally.
I was arrested, but turned my eyes toward mother; hers were closed.
Presently she murmured, "Thank God," opened them, and saw me.

A smile lighted her pale countenance.

"Cassy, my darling, kiss me.

I am glad it is not a woman." As I returned her kiss her glance dropped on a small bunch by her side, which Mehitable took and deftly unrolled, informing me as she did so that it was a "Rouser." Aunt Mercy came the next day.