Mrs. Maxwell looked at her sharply. "Why, you're dreadful pale. You
ain't faint, are you?"

"No, ma'am."

Mrs. Field turned over another page of the album. Her pale face had a
hard, indifferent look. Mrs. Maxwell nudged her, and nodded toward
Lois in the window.

"She looks dreadful," she whispered.

"I don't see as she looks any worse than she's been doin' right
along," said Mrs. Field, without lowering her voice. "What baby is
this?"

"It's Mis' Robinson's; it's dead. Hadn't I better get her something
to take? I've got some currant wine. Maybe a little of that would do
her good."

"No, thank you; I don't care for any," Lois interposed quickly.

"Hadn't you better have a little? You look real pale."

"No, thank you."

"Now you needn't mind takin' it, Lois, if you do belong to any
temperance society. It wouldn't go to the head of a baby kitten."

"I'm just as much obliged, but I don't care for any," said Lois.