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 hen Martha Hale opened the storm-door and got a cut of the north wind, she
ran back for her big woolen scarf. As she hurriedly wound
that round her head her eye made a scandalized sweep of
her kitchen. It was no ordinary thing that called her
away--it was probably further from ordinary than anything
that had ever happened in Dickson County. But what her
eye took in was that her kitchen was in no shape for leaving:
her bread all ready for mixing, half the flour sifted
and half unsifted.
She hated to see things half done; but she had been at
that when the team from town stopped to get Mr. Hale,
and then the sheriff came running in to say his wife wished
Mrs. Hale would come too--adding, with a grin, that he
guessed she was getting scary and wanted another woman
along. So she had dropped everything right where it was.
"Martha!" now came her husband's impatient
voice. "Don't keep folks waiting out here in the
cold."
 She again opened the storm-door,
and this time joined the three men and the one woman waiting
for her in the big two-seated buggy.
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