The house had a shut-up look; the sitting-room curtains were down. Ann
Mary went around to the side door; but it was locked. Then she went up
the front walk between the snowy ridges of box, and tried the front
door; that also was locked. The Adamses had gone away. Ann Mary did not
know what to do. The tears stood in her eyes, and she choked a little.
She went back and forth between the two doors, and shook and pounded;
she peeked around the corner of the curtain into the sitting-room. She
could see Loretta's organ, with the music-book, and all the familiar
furniture, but the room wore an utterly deserted air.
Finally, Ann Mary sat down on the front door-step, after she had brushed
off the snow a little. She had made up her mind to wait a little while,
and see if the folks would not come home. She had on her red hood, and
her grandmother's old plaid shawl. She pulled the shawl tightly around
her, and muffled her face in it; it was extremely cold weather for
sitting on a door-step. Just across the road was a low clump of birches;
through and above the birches the sky showed red and clear where the sun
was setting. Everything looked cold and bare and desolate to the little
girl who was trying to keep Thanksgiving. Suddenly she heard a little
cry, and Loretta's white cat came around the corner of the house.
"Kitty, kitty, kitty," called Ann Mary. She was very fond of Loretta's
cat; she had none of her own.
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