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"I don't know who'll keep the furnace a-goin' when I'm gone, nor fill the up-stairs woodroom." Still no answer. "I'm old now I'll go to Owen Frazer's farm down to Mile Corners. He'll have some work I can do." Old Chris stroked his baggy cheeks with trembling hands. Abbie still looked out of the window. "I'm a-goin' down to the post-office now," said Old Chris, as he turned and went to the door.
As Old Chris grew older and less able, Abbie was compelled to close off first one room and then another; but Old Chris still occupied the back chamber near the upstairs woodroom, and Abbie still slept in the South bedroom. Early one October afternoon, Jim East, Almont's express agent and keeper of the general store, drove his hooded delivery cart up to the front steps of the big house.
She carried it gracefully, knitting her handsome brows as the seasons brought about their endless problems, discussing bulbs with old Rafael in the garden when the snow melted, discussing paper and paint in the first glory of May, superintending the making of iced drinks on the hot summer afternoons, and in October filling her woodroom duly with the great logs that would blaze neglected in the drawing-room fireplace all winter long.
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