Soft, black smoke was coming out of a chimney, too, and
drifting against the sky.
Walking single file, and glad of their rubber boots, the two children
tramped over the field and came presently to the shabby, lonesome
little house where Mrs. Anson lived.
"My land!" she cried when she saw them. "I was just thinking about
your Ma this morning. My man's been away all week cutting wood, or I'd
have sent him down with some eggs. I suppose you want two dozen and a
half, Bobby?"
While Mrs. Anson bustled about packing the eggs in a neat box, the
children warmed their hands and drank the hot cocoa she had ready for
them.
"Made it for my man, but he sent word he won't be back till to-morrow
morning," she explained. "There's your eggs, now, and you'd better
hurry. We're going to have more snow to-night."
Mrs. Anson spent half her time alone in the lonesome little house, with
three big tabby cats for company and her hundreds of chickens to keep
her busy. She liked to be alone, and she always seemed contented and
happy.
"I don't see why she says it's going to snow," said Bobby to Meg, as
they took the eggs and went out of the narrow gate which creaked
dismally.
Mrs. Anson had gone directly to her chicken yard, and they could see
her feeding her hens and shutting them up for the night, evidently in
great haste.
"Well, I guess she knows," returned Meg doubtfully. "I heard Daddy say
she and Mr. Anson knew more about the weather than most folks, 'cause
they've lived 'way out here so long and watched it.
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