Presently Lois, at the window, saw Mr. Tuxbury's sister, Mrs. Lowe,
coming, and the minister's wife, hurrying with a voluminous swing of
her skirts, in her wake. The minister's wife had been calling, but
Mrs. Lowe, who was a little deaf, had not heard her, and it was not
until she shut the iron gate almost in her face that she saw her.
Then the two came up the walk together. Lois watched them. The coming
of all these people was to her like the closing in of a crowd of
witnesses, and for her guilt instead of her mother's. The minister's
wife looked up and nodded graciously to her, setting the bunch of red
and white cherries on her bonnet trembling. Lois inclined her pale
young face soberly in response.

"That girl looks sick," said the minister's wife to Mrs. Lowe.

There was no more silence and primness after the minister's wife
entered. Her florid face beamed on them all with masterly smiles. She
put the glasses fastened to her high satin bosom with a gold chain to
her eyes, and began sewing on a white apron. "I meant to have come
before," said she, "and brought my sewing and had a real sociable
time, but one thing after another has delayed me; and I don't know
when Mr. Wheeler will get here; I left him with a caller. But we have
been delayed very pleasantly in one respect;" she looked smilingly
and significantly at Mrs. Maxwell.

All the other ladies stared. Mrs. Maxwell, standing in their midst,
with a large cambric apron over her dress, and a powder of flour on
one cheek, looked wonderingly back at the minister's wife.

"I suppose you all know what I mean?" said Mrs. Wheeler, still
smiling. "I suppose Mrs. Maxwell has not kept the glad tidings to