bonnet absently; her silvered fair hair was frizzed under it.

Mrs. Field stood opposite, her eyes downcast, her face rigid.

"I wanted to speak to you, Mis' Maxwell," the other woman went on. "I
ain't obliged to go out anywheres to live; I've got property; but
it's kind of lonesome at my sister's, where I'm livin'. It's a little
out of the village, an' there ain't much passin'. I like to be where
I can see passin', an' get out to meetin' easy if it's bad weather.
I've been thinkin'--I didn't know but maybe you'd like to have me--I
heard you had some trouble with your hands, an' your niece wa'n't
well--that I might be willin' to come an' stay three or four weeks. I
shouldn't want to promise to stay very long."

"I ain't never been in the habit of keepin' help," returned Mrs.
Field. "I've always done my own work."

The other woman's face flushed deeply; she moved toward the door. "I
don't know as anything was said about keepin' help," said she. "I
ain't never considered myself help. There ain't any need of my goin'
out to live. I've got enough to live on, an' I've got good clothes.
I've got a black silk stiff enough to stand alone; cost three dollars
a yard. I paid seven dollars to have it made up, and the lace on it
cost a dollar a yard. I ain't obliged to be at anybody's beck and
call."

"I hope I ain't said anything to hurt your feelin's," said Mrs.
Field, following her into the entry. "I've always done my own work,
an'--"