"Whose furniture is this?" asked Thankful, referring to the stove and
chair and sofa in the dining-room.
"Laban's; that is, it used to be. When he died he didn't have chick nor
child nor relation, so fur's anybody knew, and his stuff stayed right
here. There wa'n't very much of it. That is--" He hesitated.
"But, there must have been more than this," said Thankful. "What, became
of it?"
Captain Obed shook his head. "You might ask Chris Badger," he suggested.
"Chris sells antiques on the side--the high side."
"Did old Mr. Eldredge live here ALL alone?" asked Emily.
"Yup. And died all alone, too. Course I don't mean he was alone all the
time he was sick. Most of that time he was out of his head and folks
could stay with him, but he came to himself occasional and when he did
he'd fire 'em out because feedin' 'em cost money. He wa'n't what you'd
call generous, Laban wa'n't."
"Where did he die?" asked Thankful, who was looking out of the window.
"Upstairs in the little back bedroom. Smallest room in the house 'tis,
and folks used to say he slept there 'cause he could heat it by his
cussin' instead of a stove. 'Most always cussin', he was--cussin' and
groanin'."
Thankful was silent. Emily said: "Groaning? You mean he groaned when he
was ill?"
"Yes, and when he was well, too. A habit of his, groanin' was. I don't
know why he done it--see himself in the lookin'-glass, maybe; that was
enough to make anybody groan. He'd groan in his sleep--or snore--or
both.
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