Excerpt from the book:
"Miss Temperance Tribbey stood at the back door of the old Lansing house, shading her eyes with one hand as she looked towards the gate to discover why Grip, the chained-up mastiff, was barking so viciously.
The great wooden spoon, which she held in her other hand, was dripping with red syrup, and showed that Temperance was preserving fruit. To the eyes of the initiated there were other signs of her occupation. Notably a dangerous expression in her eyes. The warmth of the stove was apt to extend to Miss Tribbey's temper at such times.
Sidney Martin, coming up the avenue-like lane to the farm-house, did not observe Miss Tribbey standing at the back door, although she saw him; and, therefore, much to his own future detriment and present prejudice in Miss Tribbey's eyes, he went to the front door, under its heavy pillared porch, and knocked. After he had vanished round the corner of the house towards the ill-chosen door, Miss Tribbey waited impatiently for the knock, calculating whether she could safely leave her fruit on the fire whilst she answered it.
The knock did not come. Muffled by the heavy door, its feeble echo was absorbed by the big rooms between the front door and the kitchen.
"Well!" said Temperance, "has he gone to Heaven all alive, like fish goes to market, or is he got a stroke?"
The cat arched its back against Miss Tribbey's skirts and so shirked the reply which clearly devolved upon it, there being no other living creature visible in the big kitchen."
