"You'll think we're reg'lar Job's comforters," cried the good soul
hastily, "but there, Mis' Thacher, you know we feel as if she was our
own. There ain't nothing I wouldn't do for Ad'line, sick or well, and
I declare I believe she'll pull through yet and make a piece of luck
that'll set us all to work praising of her. She's like to marry again
for all I can see, with her good looks. Folks always has their joys
and calamities as they go through the world."

Mrs. Thacher shook her head two or three times with a dismal
expression, and made no answer. She had pushed back the droning
wool-wheel which she had been using, and had taken her knitting from
the shelf by the clock and seated herself contentedly, while Mrs. Jake
and Mrs. Martin had each produced a blue yarn stocking from a
capacious pocket, and the shining steel needles were presently all
clicking together. One knitter after another would sheathe the spare
needle under her apron strings, while they asked each other's advice
from time to time about the propriety of "narrerin'" or whether it
were not best to "widden" according to the progress their respective
stockings had made. Mrs. Thacher had lighted an extra candle, and
replenished the fire, for the air was chillier since the sun went
down. They were all sure of a coming change of weather, and counted
various signs, Mrs. Thacher's lowness of spirits among the number,
while all three described various minor maladies from which they had
suffered during the day, and of which the unseasonable weather was
guilty.

"I can't get over the feeling that we are watchin' with somebody,"
said Mrs. Martin after a while, moved by some strange impulse and
looking over her shoulder, at which remark Mrs. Thacher glanced up