There was no doubt of that ; neither was there any doubt that the big , frowzy , red-headed , red-faced , over-fat woman sitting near the door-way , smoking a pipe quite comfortably , was very much alive . She rocked idly back and forth amid her surroundings of squalid disorder , and paid no attention whatever to the piercing wails proceeding from a cradle in the middle of the room . Rilla knew the woman by sight and reputation . Her name was Mrs. Conover ; she lived down at the fishing village ; she was a great-aunt of Mrs. Anderson ; and she drank as well as smoked . Rilla 's first impulse was to turn and flee . But that would never do . Perhaps this woman , repulsive as she was , needed help -- though she certainly did not look as if she were worrying over the lack of it . `` Come in , '' said Mrs. Conover , removing her pipe and staring at Rilla with her little , rat-like eyes . `` Is -- is Mrs. Anderson really dead ? '' asked Rilla timidly , as she stepped over the sill . `` Dead as a door nail , '' responded Mrs. Conover cheerfully . `` Kicked the bucket half an hour ago . I 've sent Jen Conover to ` phone for the undertaker and get some help up from the shore . You 're the doctor 's miss , ai n't ye ? Have a cheer ? '' Rilla did not see any chair which was not cluttered with something . She remained standing . `` Was n't it -- very sudden ? '' `` Well , she 's been a-pining ever since that worthless Jim lit out for England -- which I say it 's a pity as he ever left . It 's my belief she was took for death when she heard the news .
That young un there was born a fortnight ago and XXXXX then she 's just gone down and today she up and died , without a soul expecting it . ''
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