He knew her mind had gone out into the
wide, busy world, of which an occasional echo would reach them, gone out
in a vain effort to guess at the whereabouts of the girl who had passed
down that country road so many years ago never to return. To the very
end, Martha had never ceased hoping, never ceased praying for the return
of the wanderer, or at least for some word of assurance that all was
well with her.
By the time Tony reached the dismantled farmhouse the snow was falling
thickly, silently, on all around.
"Twill be a bad storm," thought Tony. "God pity any who are abroad this
night."
Pushing open the kitchen door he entered quickly, divesting himself of
cap, muffler, and ragged overcoat, and hanging them near the stove to
dry. He lighted the lamp and threw some wood upon the fire which had
burned low. Then, turning, he spied for the first time, a basket upon
the table. A pleased smile overspread his face. So they had not
forgotten, after all! How he and Martha had always watched for that
Christmas basket from Cousin John's folks over at the market town! It
was not so much the value of the gift, for John was not over-plentifully
blessed with the goods of this world and had a large family dependent
upon him. It was more the fact of being remembered kindly, the knowledge
that there was still some one who thought of them occasionally.
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