"
But now the middle of November had come, and she was again in her own
house. Cousin Titcomb had brought her there and driven away, concerned
that he must leave her in a cold kitchen, and only deterred by a
looming horse-trade from staying to build a fire. Lucy Ann bade him
good-by with a gratitude which was not for her visit, but all for
getting home; and when he uttered that terrifying valedictory known as
"coming again," she could meet it cheerfully. She even stood in the
door, watching him away; and not until the rattle of his wheels had
ceased on the frozen road, did she return to her kitchen and stretch
her shawled arms pathetically upward.
"I thank my heavenly Father!" said Lucy Ann, with the fervency of a
great experience.
She built her fire, and then unpacked her little trunk, and hung up the
things in the bedroom where her mother's presence seemed still to
cling.
"I'll sleep here now," she said to herself. "I won't go out of this no
more."
Then all the little homely duties of the hour cried out upon her, like
children long neglected; and, with the luxurious leisure of those who
may prolong a pleasant task, she set her house in order. She laid out a
programme to occupy her days.
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