"You've seen him when he looked so."

Emma nodded. The expression of horror on her face had deepened.

"Do you remember that time he killed the cat because she had scratched
him?"

"Yes. Don't!"

Then Caroline reentered the room; she went up to the stove, in which a
wood fire was burning--it was a cold, gloomy day of fall--and she warmed
her hands, which were reddened from recent washing in cold water.

Mrs. Brigham looked at her and hesitated. She glanced at the door, which
was still ajar; it did not easily shut, being still swollen with the
damp weather of the summer. She rose and pushed it together with a sharp
thud, which jarred the house. Rebecca started painfully with a
half-exclamation. Caroline looked at her disapprovingly.

"It is time you controlled your nerves, Rebecca," she said.

Mrs. Brigham, returning from the closed door, said imperiously that it
ought to be fixed, it shut so hard.

"It will shrink enough after we have had the fire a few days," replied
Caroline.

"I think Henry ought to be ashamed of himself for talking as he did to
Edward," said Mrs. Brigham abruptly, but in an almost inaudible voice.