And Nan laughed as heartily as could have been desired before she asked Mrs. Jake a few more appreciative questions about her ailments, and then rose to go away.  Mrs. Martin followed her out to the gate; she and Nan had always been very fond of each other, and the elder woman pointed to a field not far away where the brothers were watching a stubble-fire, which was sending up a thin blue thread of smoke into the still air.  “They were over in your north lot yisterday,” said Mrs. Martin.  “They’re fullest o’ business nowadays when there’s least to do.  They took it pretty hard when they first had to come down to hiring help, but they kind of enjoy it now.  We’re all old folks together on the farm, and not good for much.  It don’t seem but a year or two since your poor mother was playing about here, and then you come along, and now you’re the last o’ your folks out of all the houseful of ’em I knew.  I’ll own up sometimes I’ve thought strange of your fancy for doctoring, but I never said a word to nobody against it, so I haven’t got anything to take back as most folks have.  I couldn’t help thinking when you come in this afternoon and sat there along of us, that I’d give a good deal to have Mis’ Thacher step in and see you and know what you’ve made o’ yourself.  She had it hard for a good many years, but I believe ’t is all made up to her; I do certain.”

Nan meant to go back to the village by the shorter way of the little foot-path, but first she went up the grass-grown lane toward the old farm-house.  She stood for a minute looking about her and across the well-known fields, and then seated herself on the door-step, and stayed there for some time.  There were two or three sheep near by, well covered and rounded by their soft new winter wool, and they all came as close as they dared and looked at her wonderingly.  The narrow path that used to be worn to the door-step had been overgrown years ago with the short grass, and in it there was a late little dandelion with hardly any stem at all.  The sunshine was warm, and all the country was wrapped in a thin, soft haze.

She thought of her grandmother Thacher, and of the words that had just been said; it was beginning to seem a very great while since the days of the old farm-life, and Nan smiled as she remembered with what tones of despair the good old woman used to repeat the well-worn phrase, that her grandchild would make either something or nothing.  It seemed to her that she had brought all the success of the past and her hopes for the future to the dear old place that afternoon.  Her early life was spreading itself out like a picture, and as she thought it over and looked back from year to year, she was more than ever before surprised to see the connection of one thing with another, and how some slight acts had been the planting of seeds which had grown and flourished long afterward.  And as she tried to follow herself back into the cloudy days of her earliest spring, she rose without knowing why, and went down the pastures toward the river.  She passed the old English apple-tree, which still held aloft a flourishing bough.  Its fruit had been gathered, but there were one or two stray apples left, and Nan skillfully threw a stick at these by way of summons.