The three friends laughed, but Mrs. Thacher’s face quickly lost its smile and took back its worried look.  She evidently was in no mood for joking.  “Poor Billy!” said she, “he was called the smartest boy in school; I rec’lect that one of the teachers urged his folks to let him go to college; but ’t wa’n’t no use; they hadn’t the money and couldn’t get it, and ’t wa’n’t in him to work his way as some do.  He’s got a master head for figur’s.  Folks used to get him to post books you know,—­but he’s past that now.  Good-natured creatur’ as ever stept; but he always was afeard of the dark,—­’seems ’s if I could see him there a-repentin’ and the old white hoss shakin’ his head,”—­and she laughed again, but quickly stopped herself and looked over her shoulder at the window.

“Would ye like the curtain drawed?” asked Mrs. Jake.  But Mrs. Thacher shook her head silently, while the gray cat climbed up into her lap and laid down in a round ball to sleep.

“She’s a proper cosset, ain’t she?” inquired Mrs. Martin approvingly, while Mrs. Jake asked about the candles, which gave a clear light.  “Be they the last you run?” she inquired, but was answered to the contrary, and a brisk conversation followed upon the proper proportions of tallow and bayberry wax, and the dangers of the new-fangled oils which the village shop-keepers were attempting to introduce.  Sperm oil was growing more and more dear in price and worthless in quality, and the old-fashioned lamps were reported to be past their usefulness.

“I must own I set most by good candle light,” said Mrs. Martin. “’T is no expense to speak of where you raise the taller, and it’s cheerful and bright in winter time.  In old times when the houses were draftier they was troublesome about flickering, candles was; but land! think how comfortable we live now to what we used to!  Stoves is such a convenience; the fire’s so much handier.  Housekeepin’ don’t begin to be the trial it was once.”

“I must say I like old-fashioned cookin’ better than oven cookin’,” observed Mrs. Jake.  “Seems to me’s if the taste of things was all drawed up chimbly.  Be you going to do much for Thanksgivin’, Mis’ Thacher?  I ’spose not;” and moved by a sudden kind impulse, she added, “Why can’t you and John jine with our folks? ’t wouldn’t put us out, and ’twill be lonesome for ye.”

“’T won’t be no lonesomer than last year was, nor the year before,” and Mrs. Thacher’s face quivered a little as she rose and took one of the candles, and opened the trap door that covered the cellar stairs.  “Now don’t ye go to makin’ yourself work,” cried the guests.  “No, don’t! we ain’t needin’ nothin’; we was late about supper.”  But their hostess stepped carefully down and disappeared for a few minutes, while the cat hovered anxiously at the edge of the black pit.