“He didn’t look a day older than when he left, an’ his eyes an’ his mouth were smilin’ as I hadn’t seen ’em since he was a young man.

“‘Oh, Able!’ says I.  ‘Oh, Abel!’ An’ then the face wa’n’t there, an’ I heard a noise behind me, an’ looked around.

“I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw that parlor.  All the chairs an’ the sofa were covered with my weddin’-dress, that was made over for Elmira; the window-curtains were made of it, an’ the table-spread.  Thinks I, ’How was there enough of that silk, when we had hard work to get Elmira’s dress out?’

“Then I saw, in the middle of the room, a great long thing, all covered over with silk, an’ I thought it was a coffin.  I went up to it, an’ there was Abel’s hat on it, the one he wore when he went away.  I took the hat off, an’ the weddin’-silk, an’ there was a coffin.

“I thought it was Abel’s.  I raised the lid and looked.  The coffin was full of beautiful clear water, an’ I could see through it the bottom, all covered with bright gold dollars.  I leant over it, and there was my own face in the water, jest as plain as in a lookin’-glass, an’ there was Abel’s beside it.  Then I turned around quick, an’ there was Abel—­there was my husband, standin’ there alive an’ well.  Then I woke up.”

Ann ended with a hysterical sob.  Jerome and Elmira exchanged terrified glances.

“That was a beautiful dream, mother,” Jerome said, soothingly.  “Now try to eat your supper.”

“It’s been so real all day.  I feel as if—­your father had come an’ gone again,” Ann sobbed.

“Try and eat some of this milk-toast, mother; it’s real nice,” urged Elmira.

But Ann could eat no supper.  She seemed completely unstrung, for some mysterious reason.  They persuaded her to go to bed early; but she was not asleep when they went up-stairs, about ten o’clock, for she called out sharply to know if it was still snowing.

“No, mother,” Jerome answered, “I have just looked out, and there are some stars overhead.  I guess the storm is over.”

“Oh, Jerome, you don’t suppose mother is going to be sick, do you?” Elmira whispered, when they were on the stairs.

“No, I guess she’s only nervous about her dream.  The storm may have something to do with it, too.”

“Oh, Jerome, I feel exactly as if something was going to happen!”

“Nonsense,” said Jerome, laughing.  “You are nervous yourself.  I’ll give you and mother some valerian, both of you.”

“Jerome, I am sure something is going to happen.”

“It would be strange if something didn’t.  Something is happening all over the earth with every breath we draw.”

“Jerome, I mean to us!”

Jerome gave his sister a little push into her room.  “Go to bed, and to sleep,” said he, “and leave your door open if you’re scared, and I’ll leave mine.”

Jerome himself could not get to sleep soon; once or twice Elmira spoke to him, and he called back reassuringly, but his own nerves were at a severe tension.  “What has got into us all?” he thought, impatiently.  It was midnight before he lost himself, and he had slept hardly an hour when he wakened with a great start.