Jane Field

e and there the banks showed irregular patches of yellow-green, where a little m

h down over the banks to the road was bordered with smaller shells. The house was w

o them; two were in Amanda's parlor, and two were in Mrs.

ir over the ears and sections of the softly-wrinkled, pinky cheeks, was bent over some needle-work. So was Mrs. Babcock's, darkly dim with age, as if the

e stout thread through with a nervous energy that was out of acco

n' braided mats, ain't

d Amanda, and her voice was unexpectedly quick and decided. "I nev

rk for a whole family. If you'd had the cookin' to do for four men-folks, the way I have, you'd felt it was pretty hard work, even if y

d," returned A

was a

that make?" Mrs. Babcock asked

this

es

akes th

r. It was almost covered with bra

where you'll put anot

a little thicker over

needed another. I shouldn't think your carpet would wear out till

r so," replied Am

hin' to say; it's your carpet an' your mats

anches of coral, and on the top of the air-tight stove there stood always in summer-time, when there was no fire, a superb nautilus shell, like a little pearl vessel. The corner what-not, too, had its shelves heaped with shells and coral and choice bits of rainbow lava from volcanic islands. Between the windows, instead of the conventional mahogany cardtable, stood one of Indian lacquer, and on it was a little inlaid cabinet that was brought

e room were lambrequins, all worked after the same pattern in red worsted and beads. On one wall hung a group of pictures framed in cardboard, four little colored prints of crosses twined with flowers, and they were all alike. "Why didn't you get them crosses different?" many a neighbor had said to her-these crosses, with some variation of the entwining f

anda's mind from the mats. "Don't the moths ever git into that stuffed bird over there?

em," replied Amanda. "I always keep a little pi

th him. She felt real bad about it. She'd thought a good deal of the bird when he was alive, an' he was stuffed real handsome, an' settin' o

e way he was made," re

perch on dreadful little places." Mrs. Babcock, full of persistency in exposing herself to rebuffs, was very sensitive an

a good deal older t

so much more don't," Mrs. Babcock remarked, meditatively. "Now, there's that bird there, lookin' jest a

things in this world," re

t's dead an' gone, and it seems almost as if they was immortal instead of them. An' it's goin' to be jest the same way with us; the c

rk. She rolled the unbleached cloth into a hard smooth bundle, with

goin'?" s

t five to get supper, an' I thought I'd jest look in

she was. I ain't seen

un'no' but she'd think it was kinder queer if I w

he floor, and went into the bedroom to g

y," said she, using the village formul

n in much of a hurry. I've st

t her face close to Amanda's. "I want to know if i

est right, but she an' her mother

Mis' Maxwell

her myself-dreadful worried. L

give up h

shook h

hink her mothe

" Mrs. Babcock dropped her voice still

hey ain't

oked dreadful. Mis' Jackson she was in yesterday, talkin' about it. Well,

I don't go out a gr

ened Mrs. Field's door. She pressed the old brass latch with a slight show of ceremonious hesitancy, but she never thought of knocking. There was no one in the roo

for a moment starin

eld!" There was no response. She advanced then resolutely over the stretch of carpet toward t

ted and looked up at Mrs. Babcock with a kind of solemn abashedness

y. "I've been into Mandy Pratt's," she went on, "an' I thought I'd jest look in here

her room an' sit do

carpet, and settled into the rocking-chair at one of t

easant day, ain

eanin', an' now I'm goin' to git out. I dun'no' when I've been anywhere. I ain't been into Mandy's sence Christmas that I know of-I ain't been in to set down,

ework, if they do it thorough," returned Mrs. F

ome folks don't, but I can't stand it. I'm afraid of m

got it ab

you could do so much, Mis

ted, the finger-joints in great knots, which looked as if the

uired. "Seems to me they lo

nds with a staid, melancho

look worse. How's

, I guess. I dun'n

the other day that sh

d, and she spoke fast. "I dun'no' what folks mean talkin' so," said she. "Lois ain't been lookin'

ful inflection. "Let's see, you called it consumpti

ose it

p-set eyes and wide, drooping mouth. She was deliberating whether or not to ask for some information that she wa

the last

worth conside

s'pose

day, an' they said they thought he did, an' I told 'em I didn'

Babcock was leaning forward and smiling in

guess Edward never expecte

lieve he did. I declare! it s

of it some along there

have thought you'd wr

ld said

ever?" Mrs.

e once when he was

't take any

ld shook

skinflint, ain't he?

a pretty set k

ow the truth of it once. Somebody was speakin' about it the other day, an' it don't seem right for stories to be goin' the rounds when there ain't no truth in 'em. Mis' F

ooked out of

was some trouble ab

y mat

I s'po

ld, what

out of the window at the green bank

h injured dignity. "I ain't pryin' into things that folks don't want me to know about; it wa'n't never my w

as I can tell you, Mis' Babcock, Edward's father he let him have some money, and Edward he s

d Mrs. Babcock, with

s'pose

thing," she said presently. "Somebody was sayin' the other day that you thoug

, "I dun'no'. I've heard consumption was catchi

There was Mis' Gay night an' day with Susan for ten years, an' she's jest as well as anyb

to spe

re kinds of consu

ok Mrs. Field's hand warmly at parting. "I w

's real f

dish of it. Ours was uncommon nice t

a little flock of children. Mrs. Babcock stopped, and looked sharply at her

, Lois?" she inquired, in a t

ell, thank yo

ought to take a little vacation." Mrs. Babcoc

hink I need any vacation," said she, smiling constrainedly. She

little one," Mrs. Bab

r. Her face was flushed, and her h

ound and grimaced at Mrs. Babcock; another pulled Lois' dress. "Te

nervous giggle. "You mustn't ever do such a thing as that again," said Lois.

hildren all clamored, "Good-by, teache

oom to the kitchen, and settled d

r; she was moving about preparing supper.

ehead was frowning. "Has that Mr

d you me

ng me I'd ought to take a vacation, and I looked bad.

her, soothingly. "She said she was goin

n't see what folks want to send thin

d her mother, with a kind of stiff playfulness. "You

t, in the back yard, was a little thicket of mint, and some long sprays of sweetbrier

resently; and she took off her hat a

wall, with only one leaf spread. There were bread and butter a

"I didn't know the rhub

for supper," replied her

rden spot behind the house to watch the progress of the rhubarb, and how triumphantly sh

how of helping herself twice, but she took very little. But it was to her as if she also tasted every spoon

began packing up t

et down, an' let me take care of th

an?" said she. "I guess I ain't quite so far gone but what I can wash up a

kind of tired," said he

s carried the cups and saucers to the sink with a resolute air, and Mrs. Field said no

er face; over across the fields a bird was calling. Lois did not think it tangibly, but it was to her as if the blossom scent and the bird call came out of her own future. She was ill, poor, and overworked, but she was not unhappy,

she felt instantly nervous and fretted. Mrs. Field said nothing, but the volume and impetus of

o the window, and le

e window, moth

fraid you'll ca

er. I wish you would

ack; the meeting b

other?" Lois asked,

ht mebbe

want to sew some on m

ind stayin' al

se I sha'n't. You get the st

all of whose traditions were purely orthodox, was all unknowingly a fetich-worshipper in a time of trouble. Ever since her daughter had been ill, she had had a terrified impulse in her meeting-going. It seemed to her

ringing, and the vestry windows were parallelogra

e rows of their homely, faded, and strong-lined faces set in sober bonnets, a sprinkling of solemn old men, a few bright-ribboned girls, and in the background a se

d listened to the minister. He was a young man with boyish shoulders, and a round face, which he screwed nervously as he talked. He was vehe

shut up in a corner with her own God and her own religion. There are

ing. She was past middle age, but her voice was still sweet, although once in a while it quavered. She had sung in the church choir ever since she was a child, and was the prima donna of the village. The young girl with

She had a pretty blush on her round cheeks, and she smiled at Mrs. F

-night, Mrs. F

y well, than

d she w

ather has made her feel kind of tired

yes turned upon the minister, who was talking with some one at the d

t the girl was gone. The minister had started do

had heard she was ill in bed. She had an errand to do at the store on her

as in one corner of the store. There were only two clerks besides the proprietor, who was postmaster as well. Mrs. Field had to wait qui

nging men twisted about and stared lazily. The postmaster was a short, elderly man with

nt you to look at; it come this m

. Esther Maxwell; that had been her dead sister's name. She stood looking

ll, I thought I'd

e was again passing out, when somebody nudged her heavily. It w

" she said, "an' I'l

a little she drew the letter from her pocket and studied the superscription. The post-mark wa

t an' see what it is while

In a short time she had the gist of the letter. It was from a lawyer who signed himself Daniel Tuxbury. He stated formally that Thomas Maxwell was dead; that he had left a will greatly to Esther Maxwell's advantage, and that it would be advisable for her to come to Elliot at an early date if pos

tood erect by the store door. She could see Mrs. Green's broad shawled back among the customers

wever, she was conscious of no evil motive; it was simply be

en she finally approached

is' Field?" she exclaimed.

. W

n before. I think Mr. Robbins had ought to have more help. It's too much for him with only two clerks, an' the post

t?" Mrs. Green aske

as usual. She didn't

ft off her sc

rs. Field, stif

dun'no' as you'll thank me for it, but I'm goin' to speak real plain to you, the way I'd thank

Mrs. Field's vo

erplexedly at her for a

aid you didn't, an' then when you come to, perhaps when 'twas too late, you'd n

be helped," Mrs. Field sai

erferin'; but I can't help it nohow when I think of-my Abby, an' how-she went down. Ain't

no' of

sband's father? Ain't he g

an' I told him about it. I thought mebbe he'd be willin' to be fair, an' pay his son's debts, if he didn't have much feelin'. There was Esther an' Lois an' me, an' not a cent to live on, an' Esther she was beginnin' to be feeble. But he jest sent me back my letter, an' he

u didn't have to lo

, every dol

re it's

ings ain't wicked that we've always thought was. I don't know but the Lo

ess I don't know jest wh

ught to lay hold of justice themselves if there ain't no other way, an' that's what we've got hands for." Suddenly Mrs. Field's manner changed. "I kn

thinkin' what might have been done. It does seem to me that if something was done right away, Lois might get up; but there ain't no use waitin'. I've seen young girls go down; it seems sometimes as if there wa'

great sobs. "I ain't-blami

as if something ought to be done, if there could be; an'-I thought-so much about my-poor Abby. L

ned Mrs. Field, catching h

se I spoke as I did," Mrs. Green said, whe

ything I didn't know,

he evidence of unwonted excitement and the deepest feeling. When Mrs. Field entered her sitting-room, the first object that met her eyes was Lois' face. She was tilted back i

What are you standing there looking at me so for

I've jest come home from meeti

a minute. I heard you

d the letter in her pocket. Th

other lamp. "Well, I guess

te," her mot

sed inqu

astily. "You needn't stop. I can

t wa

any account.