Thankful, left alone, tried to read for a time, but the wailing wind and squeaking shutters made her nervous and depressed, so, after putting the key under the mat of the side door for Heman Daniels, who was out attending a meeting of the Masonic Lodge, she, too, retired.
It was not raining when she awoke, but the morning was gray and cloudy.
She came downstairs early, so early--for it was Sunday morning, when all East Wellmouth lies abed--that she expected to find no one, not even Imogene, astir.

But, to her great surprise, Miss Timpson was seated by the living-room stove.
"Land sakes!" exclaimed Thankful.

"Are you up?
What's the matter ?" Miss Timpson, who had started violently when Mrs.Barnes entered, turned toward the latter a face as white, so Thankful described it afterward, "as unbleached muslin." This was not a bad simile, for Miss Timpson's complexion was, owing to her excessive tea-drinking, a decided yellow.
Just now it was a very pale yellow.
"Who is it ?" she gasped.

"Oh, it's you, Mrs.Barnes.It IS you, isn't it ?" "Me?
Of course it's me.

Have I changed so much in the night that you don't know me?
What is it, Miss Timpson?
Are you sick?
Can I get you anything ?" "No, no.