Before Ezekiel left the house he had interrupted Quincy's meditations by
knocking on his door, and when admitted told him that he had had a
letter from Huldy.
"She is kind of lonesome," he said, "and wants me to come over to see
her."
"But it is a terrible storm," said Quincy, looking out of the window.
"Oh," said Ezekiel, "we'll be all right! Hiram is going with me, and we
are going to take Swiss along with us. Now, Mr. Sawyer, I am going to
ask you to do me and Alice a favor. Uncle Ike is upstairs busy reading,
and if you will kinder look out for Alice till I get back I shall be
greatly obliged."
Quincy promised and Ezekiel departed.
Quincy thought the fates had favored him in imposing upon him such a
pleasant task. But where was she, and what could he do to amuse her?
Then he thought, "We can sing together as we did yesterday."
He went down stairs to the parlor, thinking she might be there, but the
room was empty. The fire was low, but the supply of wood was ample, and
in a short time the great room was warm and comfortable. Quincy seated
himself at the piano, played a couple of pieces and then sang a couple;
he did not think while singing the second song that he had possibly
transcended propriety, but when he sang the closing lines of "Alice,
Where Art Thou?" it suddenly dawned upon him, and, full of vexation, he
arose and walked to the window and looked out upon the howling storm.
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